


Behind Bars

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Bargaining, Blowjobs, Breathplay, Chains, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Forced Orgasm, Forced blowjobs, M/M, Prison Sex, Restraints, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Violence, ropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a riot in the prison and several guards are taken prisoner. Valjean claims Javert when the convicts divide them up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Les Mis kink meme.
> 
> I would just like to thank everyone for all the awesome comments. They meant the world. Thank you so much!

The plan takes weeks to prepare.

Valjean thinks of it when he’s chained in the cells at night and can’t sleep, and when he’s out working in the hot sunlight. When he sees the guards, when he sees Javert, he can feel the anticipation in his bones.

On a crisp spring morning, they are ready. The convicts overpower the guards on duty, claiming the cells first before they break across the courtyard.

The rest of the guards bear down upon them, and the convicts surge forward to meet the attack, all the while holding the cells. The courtyard is a melee. There is too much blood, Valjean can taste it in the air. It was not meant to be like this.

He looks around and catches sight of Javert. The guard is backed up against the wall, swinging his club coolly. He fights well, but he’s tiring. Valjean can see it in his arms, in his stance.

So let the man die. It won’t change anything. But as Valjean watches Javert stagger, and take a blow to the stomach, there’s a puzzling tightening to his own ribcage and Valjean moves forward automatically, seizing the arm of the convict about to strike a fatal blow.

“We need hostages.”

Javert looks up at the voice, eyes widening as he sees Valjean standing over him.

The convict shrugs, and strikes Javert over the head instead.

The guards withdraw at last, admitting temporary defeat. The convicts cheer, the sound filling the courtyard, ringing against the walls. They post their own men as guards and file into the cell block as night falls.

Toulon is theirs.

* * *

When they take stock of their spoils, there are only seven guards captured. More are dead, but the dead are useless. The survivors stand with their backs against the wall as the convicts jeer and laugh at them.

Javert tests his bonds. There’s no give. He wonders how long it will before the convicts start torturing or killing them. Chances are they will leave one or two alive for leverage. Javert also assumes he will not be one of them. He has already become too well known in the prison. They will not treat him kindly. Javert’s prepared for this.

He’s not prepared for Valjean to step through the crowd of convicts to take his place at the front. Javert wills himself to stand firm. Just a few weeks ago he was responsible for Valjean spending a night in the hole. Valjean will lead the mob in clamoring for his head. Javert takes a breath, and waits.

“That one,” Allard declares, grabbing the first guard. He forces the man to his knees. “I will take him,”

“And then me,” Bellamy joins in. He laughs as Allard pushes the man’s head down to his crotch.

“I’ll have that that one.” Geroux says, reaching for the second guard. Another convict aids him and they drag him into a corner. Javert tries not to listen to the man’s cries.

“Javert,” A thick-faced convict, a murderer, Javert recalls, claps a hand on the back of his neck, pushing him forwards, shoving him down to his knees. Javert lands hard, grunting. The murderer pulls his head back roughly. There’s a knife at his throat and Javert swallows painfully against the steel.

_God in heaven, grant me..._

“That one is mine.”

A voice Javert has never been grateful to hear in his life now saves him. Valjean moves in, dropping a hand on Javert’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

The knife digs into Javert’s skin. The murderer is unwilling to relinquish his prize.

“You want to keep him?” The leader of the convicts, a man named Mercier, asks the question of Valjean.

“I have…personal business with this guard.” Valjean shoves Javert backward, away from the knife. Javert lands flat on his back, staring up at the three men standing over him.

“Personal business.” Mercier laughs and spits at Javert. “You’re that hot for his hole, Valjean? Has it been so long?” He gestures crudely and the convicts laugh.

Javert’s jaw tightens as Valjean merely says, “That is my affair.”

“Take him then, and stuff him till he screams.”

The murderer objects and Mercier calms him by telling him he will have use of the other guards. Javert shudders at the statement, but he has no time to be concerned for the others. Valjean pulls him to his feet, pulling him along down the dank hallway to the cells, the convicts hooting and jeering after them. Javert has walked this path many times, but never like this, stumbling along in front of Valjean like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Go on then,” Javert spits over his shoulder at him.

Valjean retaliates by punching him in the mouth. Javert rears back against the wall, spitting blood. Valjean kicks him in the leg, knocking him down. Javert tries to push himself up, but Valjean kicks him again, and again until oblivion takes him.

Valjean stares down at the unconscious man at his feet. Why had he done this? Any of this? He thinks of Mercier’s words and flushes. It’s not that.

He’s simply not ready for Javert to be killed. The man is far too useful to kill him now. They might need them. He’s being sensible.

He checks Javert’s bonds and leaves him there in the hallway for now.

Half the convicts are busy with the guards. The others are discussing plans and strategies. Their bellies are empty tonight. Tomorrow they will bargain with the outside authorities for food and water, and if the warden wants the guards to live, then…

Valjean goes outside, nodding at the men on guard. They’ve built a fire and he stands there, warming his hands for a moment.

It’s strange to see the night sky. He hasn’t been outside at night for years. Valjean stands there, gazing up at the sky in silent wonder.

* * *

“Here, go on.”

Javert coughs and chokes. His face is being forced down into a puddle. It could be rain water, but it smells like piss. He thrashes helplessly. The convict standing over him laughs before pulling his head up by his hair.

“How do you like that?”

Javert spits at him and the convict backhands him across the face before forcing him back down upon the filthy prison floor. They hold him down firmly while they retie his bonds. This time his wrists and ankles are bound behind him, cross-drawn tightly so that he resembles a trussed pig on its way to market.

They drag him back into the main room and leave him lying there in a corner. The other guards are not being treated so kindly. Javert watches out of one eye as a convict cuts away the guard’s clothes, not caring if he tears flesh as well as cloth.

He twists his head to look for Valjean, not finding him there amongst the conspirators. Again, he hears the words that rang out so confidentally. _That one is mine._ Javert can’t deny the fear the coursed through him when he heard those words, or the heat, unwanted but there all the same.

One of the other guards, a man named Firmin, screams and Javert winces.

The murderer, whose number is 22309, if Javert recalls correctly, sees him lying there unattended. He ambles over to stand looking down at Javert.

“Filthy pig, that'll be you soon.” He grabs his crotch, leering down at Javert.

Javert merely stares up at him coolly. “Your cock is far too small to make anyone scream in such a fashion.”

“You whoreson,” 22309 screams, rolling him over on his side. He kicks Javert in the stomach savagely.

“Pinard!” Mercier strides over to him, “If you harm him, you will answer to Valjean.” He glances at Javert curiously. “And I think perhaps, that would be unpleasant.”

“His tongue displeases me. “ Pinard spits. It hits Javert’s cheek, sliding down his skin like the wake of a snail.

Mercier sighs. “Then stop it.” He grabs the man’s kerchief from his pocket and ties it around Javert’s mouth. It stinks of sweat and blood and Javert gags.

“We are not yet done.” Pinard whispers and then stalks off.

Mercier sighs again, gazing down upon Javert. "I would take care to stay out of that one's way if I were you." He crouches down, studying the bound guard. "You are extremely lucky in having found such a protector as Valjean." He pushes Javert's chin up with his fingers. "I advise you to keep him well-satisfied if you know what's good for you."

Javert struggles in his grip and Mercier releases him with a chuckle.

* * *

When Valjean has had his fill of the sky, he returns to the hall only to stop dead. Javert is no longer there where he left him. He turns, hurrying back into the main room.

“What have you done?” Valjean demands, looking around. “Where is Javert?”

Mercier holds up his hands. “Calm yourself. No one has touched your precious guard.” He nods across the room and Valjean follows his gaze to see Javert lying there on his belly, bound and gagged.

“He’s a feisty one.” Mercier sighs. “We had to take measures.”

“Next time fetch me first,” Valjean starts over to Javert.

“Next time I’ll cut out his tongue,” Mercier calls after him.

Valjean picks Javert up, slinging him over his shoulder as though he’s no more than a sack of grain. He carries him down the hall and into an abandoned cell.

Javert struggles pointlessly, panting against the gag. Valjean reaches around to untie the gag and Javert growls at him.

“Keep quiet.” Valjean tells him harshly, pulling the gag free. Javert promptly bites at his hand, and Valjean strikes him across the face in quick retaliation. “Do you not hear me? Do you want to die?”

“Why haven’t you killed me already?” Javert demands. He doesn’t understand this man. What is Valjean playing at by keeping him like this?

“That is my affair.” Valjean sits back on his heels.

“Why are you doing this, 24601?” Javert demands. He will have his answer; he must know.

Valjean leans in, clasping his throat tightly. “If you call me that again, I swear I will kill you.”

There is a darkness in his eyes that Javert has never seen before. It pierces him to the core, frightening him more than he can ever dare admit. He wets his lips, feeling the fingers around his throat tighten as he does so.

“Please.”

“Would you beg me for your life?” Vajean whispers. “Would you grovel for it? You who have made my life a hell these last five years?” His fingers tighten and Javert splutters helplessly.

Javert chokes beneath his hands. How easy it would be to finish this, to watch the life fade from his eyes and let it be done. His fingers long for it.

Abruptly Valjean loosens his grip, letting Javert fall back upon the floor. “I won’t kill you, Javert. Not tonight.”

“When then?” Javert wheezes.

Valjean doesn’t answer him. Instead he turns on his heel and leaves Javert there gasping like a fish on his belly on the cell floor.

Javert struggles furiously, but he can’t maneuver himself into any position that’s less humiliating or awkward. He spends the night in that position, uncomfortable and resentful.

* * *

By the time morning comes, Javert’s dying for a piss. Resting on his belly all night, tied in such a fashion has made him desperate. He aches all over, but the ache in his bladder is by far the worst. He groans, trying to move without pressing on his bladder. Christ. The minutes tick by, and Javert tries to push himself up on his side. It fails, and he groans again, unable to control himself as his body rebels.

The hot stain spreads gradually across his crotch. Javert swears under his breath. Now he has to lie there in his own piss. He closes his eyes, wishing he would wake and find this all to be a dream.

At last Valjean enters the cell. He eyes Javert silently and Javert squirms under his gaze. He could remain stoic all day, but the smell of piss betrays him.

Valjean pulls the pistol free from his belt. He unties Javert’s wrists and steps back. “Untie your ankles.”

Javert moves stiffly, fumbling at his ankles. When he’s free, he looks up at Valjean cautiously.

“Stand up.” Valjean keeps the pistol pointed at him.

Javert stands, his legs stinging as though knives are jabbing at him. He resists the urge to rub at them.

“Undress.”

Javert pauses. “What,”

“Do it.”

Javert kicks off his boots and steps out of them. Slowly he removes his trousers. What is Valjean playing at?

Valjean keeps the pistol aimed at him. “Underclothes.”

Javert flushes. “Valjean.” Mercier's words return to him, and he tenses, wondering if this will be it.

“Do it or I will walk you out into the courtyard and make you strip there.”

The thought is too much to bear. Javert pulls his drawers down, tossing them on top of his trousers. His hands linger on his shirt, the hem ends just above his pubic hair. His cock dangles fearlessly between his legs, even as Javert himself wishes he were standing anywhere other than before Valjean's eyes.

“Keep your shirt.” Valjean says dismissively. He leans down and grabs Javert’s trousers and drawers.

He leaves Javert standing there in the cell in his shirt and stockings.

Javert pulls his shirt down, but it doesn’t cover him enough. He tries the door but it’s locked. Strangely, he finds that almost reassuring. At least no other convict will be able to get in even if he can't get out. Javert runs a hand through his hair and tries to think.

He studies the length of the cell, rubbing at his wrists as he does. The window is too high to reach. There's no other avenue of escape.

Javert paces back and forth, staring up at the window.

The bars at the door rattle and he turns. Two convicts stand there, leaning against the bars, smirking at him. He can’t remember either of their numbers, but from their leers they certainly know who he is.

Javert covers his crotch.

“Ah, he’s shy.” The first convict snickers.

“Isn’t he sweet?” The second one makes a lewd sucking gesture through his teeth. “Turn around so we can see the bruising Valjean gave you.”

The first convict spits through the bars. “He made you beg for it, did he?”

Javert’s teeth clench, he will not lower himself to reply. Where the devil is Valjean?

They rattle the door. “How did that bastard get a key?”

“We’ll be back, Javert.” They disappear down the hall, and Javert leans back against the wall, ashamed of his relief.

* * *

In one of the southern cells there's a leak over the window ledge. The water collected there is too fetid to drink, but better than piss perhaps. Valjean scoops up a handful up, dribbling it over the stain on Javert's trousers. There’s not enough to wash both items of clothing. Most likely Javert cares more for his trousers than his drawers, so Valjean focuses on that. He scoops up another handful and repeats it, brushing the water over the crotch, until the trousers are damp and smell different at least, if not better.

* * *

"Here." Valjean holds out his trousers. "I cleaned them. Somewhat." The pistol's still in his other hand as he waits for Javert to take the trousers.

“Why would you do that?” Javert’s suspicious, gazing at his trousers distrustfully. Where are his underclothes?

Valjean sighs. “Would you rather they had remained covered in piss?”

Javert wrinkles his nose at the smell. "It's worse than the piss."

“Or without them altogether?” Valjean inquires tartly.

Javert flushes.

Valjean makes as though to take the trousers back.

“No.” Grudgingly Javert pulls them on. They’re still damp across the crotch, reminding him uncomfortably of what happened, and that Valjean was the one who washed them. Javert's cock rubs across the damp patch intimately, making him turn away from Valjean.

“Thanks would not go amiss.” Valjean mutters in exasperation.

"Where are my underclothes?" Javert mutters back.

"Be grateful I gave you anything back at all." Valjean tells him. "Now face the wall."

“What’re you going to do?” Javert curses himself for his weakness, but he must ask. The way the convicts spoke, Valjean must have bragged about what he had planned for Javert. Javert studies him, his eyes taking in every aspect of the convict. From his height and stance, he’s probably large. Javert averts his eyes, unable to believe that he just thought about Valjean’s cock. _24601, 24601. 2 - 4 - 6 - 0 - 1._

Valjean doesn't mock or jeer. He doesn't do anything else Javert expects either. “I’m going to retie your wrists behind your back, but I will leave your ankles free this time.”

Javert hesitates and then turns to face the wall. He studies the stone, the cold smell of the ancient masonry seeping through the air.

Valjean’s standing so close behind him, Javert can smell the man, the tang of sweat and dirt mixing with simply the scent of Valjean. He aches to run. Valjean's fingers reach for his wrist. Turning abruptly, Javert knocks into Valjean, trying to catch him off-guard. Valjean growls and they roll across the cell floor, grappling back and forth. Javert lands a blow on Valjean's kidneys. Before this imprisonment, he ate three meals a day, exercised. He is not a small man, but Valjean, unlike many of his fellow convicts, has thrived in prison. His muscled shoulders grow taut, pinning Javert to the floor, his chest heaving not with the exertion of it, but with adrenaline.

Javert glares up at him. “Go on then,” he spits. This is it then. It will be like this, on his back under a man he despises. He waits for Valjean to make his move.

Valjean’s eyes hold no knowledge of what he means. “What are you talking about? I try to show you some civility, and you act as though,”

“Why should you be civil to me at all?” How can a criminal even comprehend the meaning of civility?  As much as Javert would like to think prisons could rehabilitate the men they hold, he knows better.

“Perhaps because I’m better than you.” Valjean’s words hold the bluntness of truth and Javert laughs incredulously. How can this convict think he’s the better man?

“You are mad.”

“What did you think I was going to do?” Valjean interrupts.

“What do you think?” Javert bites out. He twists underneath Valjean, but the man holds firm, pressing his body to the stone floor. Javert is uncomfortably aware of the man's strength.

Valjean stares. “How could,”

“It’s what every convict in here expects you to do. ” Javert can't keep the bitterness from his voice. "Most think you’ve already done it."

“Unlike you, I have a higher opinion of me,” Valjean’s voice is cool as a river in winter. He sits back and the moment Javert moves to escape, Valjean slaps him hard, rolling him over on his belly.

* * *

Once Javert’s wrists are bound once more, Valjean’s hand rests momentarily on Javert’s lower back. He remembers then, the earlier sight of Javert standing half bare before him – what he thought then in that moment is no one’s business of his own. Not the other prisoners, not even Javert’s. Yet the thought that Javert expected him to...

Valjean raises his hand and brings it down hard on Javert’s backside. The crack resounds through the cell and Javert jumps, twisting his head to glower up at him. Valjean does it again, and again.

“Stop, damn you, stop.” Javert struggles violently against the onslaught and Valjean traps his legs easily under his knee.

“You beat me many times.” Valjean hand strikes again and Javert tries to squirm away as a distressing heat blossoms upon his cheeks.

“That was my duty. I was upholding the law.” Javert bellows. “This is an outrage.”

“You are not the law here now,” Valjean tells him, smacking him again.

“I’m warning you,”

“Shall I strip your trousers down and proceed?” Valjean says, menace lurking in the shadows of his voice. Javert grits his teeth. Each blow sends his hips rocking forward, his cock chaffing against his trousers.

“Valjean.” A convict calls from down the hallway.

Valjean’s hand pauses and then strikes one last time before he sits back.

“Valjean,” the voice calls again and Valjean goes to answer.

Javert is left once again tied and smarting. This time though, he manages to roll over on his side, then braces himself up on his knees to lean against the wall. He sits gingerly, wincing as the fire increases in his backside.

 _What a hand Valjean has_. If he had done it bare, Javert shudders at the thought. He's barely able to sit as it is.

His cock still strains at his trousers. Javert steadfastly ignores it. It has everything to do with the friction of the material and nothing whatsoever to do with the beating Valjean administered. Beating is hardly the right word. When Javert thinks of what he’s done to Valjean in the past, he’s ashamed to think of the pain he felt only a few moment ago.

* * *

The first time Javert had beaten Valjean was a mere two weeks after he’d been appointed to Toulon. Valjean had only been there a few weeks himself. He was still growing accustomed to the prison rules, still resentful of his sentencing. He spoke out often, causing trouble amongst the other prisoners. Javert had had little patience in those early days, so eager to show the convicts the true way of the law. They could never be truly rehabilitated of course, but if they could simply be made to understand the meaning of its authority, they could labor complete in the knowledge that they were fulfilling the course of justice.

Valjean hadn’t seen it that way, of course. Valjean, still beardless in those days, not adorned with the short sharp beard he has now. Still young, still defiant, staring the guards boldly back in the face when they gave him orders. His eyes had incensed Javert and he struck Valjean across the face, before tying the convict to the whipping post and beating him quick and hard. At the end of his punishment, Valjean had laughed in his face.

Javert blinks, resting his head back against the wall. Five years behind bars have tempered Valjean’s rebellious spirit somewhatm but not enough. He’s obviously one of the ringleaders of the riot, along with 22309, the man they call Mercier. Mercier had ceased the murderer’s attentions, but Javert's no fool. The man needs Valjean at his side to keep order, but if he ceased to be of use, he would have his men tear Valjean apart.

They were rabble, and this insanity would end in all their deaths.

The cell Valjean claimed for himself is one of the better ones. It’s not as dank as the others and the straw has been cleaned recently. Through the narrow high window Javert watches the morning turn to afternoon and then to night once again, as he waits for Valjean to return.

The hours are long; his limbs are cramped and sore. His buttocks ache, but Javert refuses to lie back down. He will face Valjean as best as he can.

* * *

The convicts finally manage to exchange one of the guards in return for a cart filled with bread and several buckets of water, but not before pissing all over the man and making him crawl across the courtyard to his freedom.

Valjean watches this interchange silently, then takes a loaf and a bucket back to the cell.

Javert looks up at him. His position is awkward; no doubt he’s still feeling the effects of Valjean’s earlier punishment.

Valjean hides a smile, setting the bucket down. “Here.” Scooping a wooden cup into it, he kneels on one knee to offer it to Javert. “You must be thirsty.”

Javert stares at him, then allows the convict to help him drink. He lets the water wet his tongue then coolly spits it back over Valjean’s face. Valjean wipes his face calmly with his sleeve, and then backhands Javert across the face.

He grips Javert by the throat one-handedly, keeping him against the wall, while he cuts the man’s bonds with his knife. Javert struggles, but Valjean’s grip tightens and he chokes, his legs kicking out in vain. There are chains hanging on the wall above him. Valjean captures his wrists and locks them into place.

Now Javert slumps on the floor, the chains pulling hard at his wrists, stretching his shoulders painfully. He glares at Valjean, then winces as his tender backside reminds him of its condition.

“You won’t get another mouthful until you ask for it.” Valjean says curtly.

“Then I will die with my tongue dry and withered.” Javert strains at the chains now binding his wrists, but he’s helpless as a child. It’s infuriating, not to mention humiliating.

“We will see.” Valjean sits opposite him, back braced against the wall. He tears a small piece of bread from the loaf and chews it slowly. His mind returns to what Javert thought before. The ridiculousness of such a suggestion prompts his tongue to speak when it would be better occupied in feeding his stomach.

“The other convicts, they say I’m going to fuck you?”

Javert looks away. “Yes.” He's been waiting for Valjean to broach the subject again.

Valjean rubs at his jaw tiredly. “Perhaps I should. Since you think me so base. Is that what I should do, Javert? Should I make you scream?”

“Do what you like.” Javert sneers, even as the words send hated warmth straight to his groin. He’s hungry, that’s the problem, Javert tells himself. That’s the only problem here. He watches Valjean tear another piece from the loaf and place it in his mouth.

His stomach growls at him, and Valjean eyes him.

Javert keeps his gaze fixed on the far corner of the cell. What does it matter if he’s hungry? He can stand a little hunger. It will not kill him. He's been hungry before.

His tongue now lies even more dry in his mouth than before the brief taste of water. He swallows thickly.

Valjean eats another piece of bread.

“Is there a plan?” Javert demands. “Or are all you simply trying to cause trouble for just men?”

“We want our freedom.” Valjean says softly. “Failing that, we want to be treated better.”

“And you think this is the way to do it,” Javert scoffs. “They will hang the lot of you for these actions.”

Valjean nods. “That would be another way out.” He stares down at his hands. “Do you remember when I tried to escape last year?”

“Of course I do.” Javert says, far too quickly. Valjean raises his eyes at his words and he adds, “It was a stupid thing.”

* * *

It had been summer then. The sweet, hot summer sun beat down upon Valjean’s head as he ran. The fields were ripe with thick wheat. The whole world had smelled glorious and he had run swiftly through the fields, though his feet ached and his stomach growled weakly.

“That was a good day.” Valjean says simply. The memory burns brightly still, warming him.

“But you were caught.” Javert stares at him. “They brought you back here.”

“But for a few hours, I was free.” Valjean reminds him. “Those hours were very short, but very sweet.”

Javert leans his head back, trying to make sense of it. “Would you try it again?”

“If I had the opportunity?” Valjean considers this. He had such a short amount of freedom then. If he were free again, the things he would do. His eyes move over Javert's form, and the guard stares back at him, waiting. Valjean is silent, and then, “Yes.” He would run again in a heartbeat.

Javert nods in a satisfied manner. “I knew that that would be your answer. A man like you can never change.”

“It’s been five years.” Valjean stands suddenly, towering above him. “I’ve changed already.”

“What are you doing?” Javert’s backed up against the wall; there’s nowhere for him to run, and the chains keep him there in place as Valjean crouches between his legs.

“Five years of loneliness, and little comfort, save from my own hand.”

Javert's cheeks redden. He doesn’t want to think of Valjean doing those things. The image is sordid in his mind. He freezes as Valjean’s hand rests on his crotch.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You have no authority here,” Valjean reminds him, unbuttoning his trousers, “and, as you take great pleasure in reminding me, I am at heart, a thief.”

His hand closes upon Javert’s length and Javert clamps his mouth shut to avoid any sound escaping.

Valjean strokes him steadily, eyes intent on Javert’s face all the while. Javert’s back is flattened against the wall as he pulls at the chains. Oh god in heaven, why can’t he escape from this torment? Valjean’s palm is hot as hellfire, wringing unwanted pleasure from every last inch of Javert’s body, making him pant shamefully.

He will not beg, although his cock is desperate, pre-come gathering at his tip, staining the front of his trousers. Javert turns his face as far away from Valjean as he can, squeezing his eyes shut as he comes, held tightly in Valjean’s palm.

Valjean holds him until Javert’s cock stills in his hand. Only then does he release Javert. Silently he refastens Javert’s trousers and returns to his place against the opposite wall.

“Why did you do that?” Javert whispers, face still turned away.

“Because I have wanted to for a long time.”

The confession falls quietly from Valjean’s lips and Javert has to face him now. He cannot understand how anyone would want to do that to him, especially a prisoner he’s treated as he has treated Valjean. Yet he thinks again of the heat between them as Valjean’s hands were upon his throat, and he knows that he too desires things that don’t make sense when held up to the light of day.

He turns his head up towards the window once again, though all he can see now is the soft quiet dark of twilight. And then, as he watches, the first star appears in the firmament. Closing his eyes, Javert wishes…

*  *  *

Valjean doesn’t know what to do now. He wipes his hand on his trousers, watching Javert studiously avoid his gaze. The man is in pain, yet he doesn't beg or plead or make any demands at all. His throat must be dry as a desert by now, and Valjean realizes that if Javert is to survive this ordeal, he has to make him.

Valjean fills the cup with water once more and returns to stand over Javert.

"What,"

Valjean grips his hair, pulling his head back. "Drink," he pours the water into Javert's open mouth. Javert sputters, some of the water dribbling down his chin but he swallows most of it.

Valjeans waits till he's done coughing before breaking off a piece of bread and holding it in front of Javert's mouth. "Take it or I will make you choke on it."

Javert glares up at him, but his throat is raw already, so he opens his mouth sullenly. Valjean's fingers stink like _him_ and Javert gags on the dry bread.

Valjean leaves him alone and goes to piss in the opposite corner.

Javert chokes down the bread at last. His poor throat is racked raw. His stomach is uneasy about the whole thing. He hopes if he does vomit it will be over Valjean. Serve the man right.

Valjean turns back just as he’s fastening his trousers. Javert sees but a glimpse of the man, and immediately looks away.

Valjean eyes him and stretches out on the floor opposite. He turns on his side to sleep, away from Javert.

Javert listens to the sound of Valjean's breathing grow even and shifts, trying to stretch his legs. Everything within him aches no matter how he tries to ease his body. At last he gives up, slumped against the wall. If only the night would end.

*  * *

In the morning Valjean wakes first. Javert is still asleep, his weight hanging on his chains. Valjean hesitates, then leaves the cell. He collects more bread and checks on the status of the other guards, as well as the men on duty in the courtyard, before returning to the cell.

By that time Javert is awake. He grunts in pain as he sits up straighter and his glare is just as strong as yesterday.

This time though when Valjean offers him water, he drinks until the cup is empty, and swallows every last bite of bread placed upon his tongue.

* * *

The day is as slow as the previous one. Valjean spends most of the day away from the cell, discussing strategies with Mercier.

Javert waits the hours out.

He recites proverbs until his mind goes blank, and then he repeats lines from the ballads the convicts would sing as they worked. He's heard enough of them in his years at the prison. They've remained in his brain like silt from the sea.

The afternoon drags on and eventually his boredom sends him drifting into a soporific state.

* * *

Javert starts out of his stupor as he hears the laughter. Unthinkably, he had dozed off. Now the two convicts from before, as well as two others are standing there in the cell looking down at him. Javert braces his back against the wall, chains pulled taut.

Where is Valjean when he fucking needs him?

The first convict pats his cheek. “Open your mouth.”

“Get off me.” Javert pulls his head away.

The convict’s face tightens. He smacks Javert across the mouth, sending his head hard against the wall.

“Looks as though you still think you’re above us.”

He unfastens his trousers, drawing out his cock.

Javert stiffens.

*  *  *

The sound of raucous laughter draws Valjean's attention back to the cell. He strides in there, ready to demand what's going on only to stop dead at the sight in front of him.

Four men stand around Javert, with their cocks out. Javert’s head hangs low, piss dripping down his cheeks and throat. His eyes are closed against the stream still currently aimed at him.

The convicts look half nervously at Valjean, but they’re still laughing. Valjean glares at all of them.

“Get out!” He roars.

The convicts scatter, snatching at their trousers.

Valjean turns back to Javert. The man’s lips are pressed together tightly as he struggles to maintain composure. If he opens his mouth, piss will run inside it.

It's humiliating, yes. The humiliation is only one tenth of the indignities Valjean has had heaped upon him ever since he was first brought to Toulon.

Valjean strips off his shirt and kneels beside him, drying Javert’s face and throat, before sitting back. He waits, but Javert keeps his eyes closed. At last Valjean straightens up and stalks out of the cell.

Javert only opens his eyes after the man's footsteps have died away. Valjean's discarded shirt lays there on the cell floor. Javert stares at it, trying to reason why the man would do such a thing.

* * *

Valjean goes to find Mercier and finds him in the courtyard. He approaches the man and Mercier takes in his furious demeanor. He nods to the men standing beside him, and they back away.

“Something troubling you, Valjean?”

“If the men don’t stay away from Javert,” Valjean starts.

“What is it with Javert?” Mercier demands. “Tell me, Valjean. I will listen.”

Valjean takes a breath, staring up at the prison walls towering above him. The walls have stood there longer than him, and they will stand on long after he’s dead.

“He has been here nearly as long as I have. You and I both know we will probably die within these prison walls.” Mercier has only been at Toulon for two years, but he was held in another prison before that. He knows the unending length of the days spent in chains, same as Valjean. “In the meantime, there is something satisfying about,”

Valjean doesn't know the words for what he wants with Javert. He only know he can't surrender Javert to the other men.

“Keeping him?” Mercier’s amused. “I understand. But the men grow restless. We’ve gained little progress with the authorities. Valjean. You've done a good job keeping them steady so far, but the rest of us have shared our spoils.”

Valjean’s hands clench. “What are you suggesting?”

Mercier leans in. “I don’t care if you keep your pet to yourself. But it would help if you, perhaps, put on a show.”

“No.” Valjean recoils at the thought. Whatever his personal desires towards Javert, he will not display the man like a whore for entertainment.

“Then lend him for a day.”

“ _No_.”

Mercier sighs. “Valjean, think of the men. How long before we lose control of them? The waiting is wearing on every last man. It's only fair.”

“I’m the only man who touches him.” Valjean states.

“Understood.” Mercier waits.

Now is Valjean’s turn to sigh. “Very well.”

Absurdly, Valjean finds himself glad that he touched Javert as he had the night before. After today Javert will never look upon him kindly.

A second after thinking it, the thought makes Valjean laugh ridiculously at himself. Javert will _never_ look kindly upon him, no matter what the future holds. Better that Valjean should do what he has to and ensure they both survive. If he gains any pleasure from the act, so be it, though Valjean doesn't think he will.

He thinks about what it will take to keep the other convicts satisfied. It will have to be a savage display to succeed in its goal.

He should fuck Javert.

Valjean closes his eyes. No, he can’t do that, not in front of all the convicts. It would kill Javert, and Valjean needs him alive, _wants_ him alive, but he'll have to put him on display regardless. Javert will hate him for it. But he’ll live. He won’t thank Valjean, but he’ll live.

* * *

Javert hasn’t moved since Valjean left him. He watches dully as Valjean quickly sluices off his shirt and pulls it on.

Valjean steels himself for what he has to do. He uncuffs Javert, pulling him to his feet. Javert stumbles and Valjean lets him fall back to the floor. Javert groans. He lies there, trying to regain feeling in his limbs. Valjean grabs the bucket of water and dumps half of it over Javert’s face. Javert splutters, pushing himself up angrily. Only to stumble again as Valjean jerks him upright, slamming him into the wall.

“Unhand me!” Javert shouts.

Valjean merely ties his wrists with rope once more and turns him around. He stares into Javert’s eyes, trying to somehow make him understand what's about to happen.

“If you want to live, do what I say and nothing more.”

Then his hand closes on the back of Javert’s neck, hauling him out of the cell.

“What are you doing?” Javert demands. He can barely keep up with Valjean’s furious stride. The man is forcing him along like a dog.

“You’ll see soon enough.” Valjean’s tone is grim.

The convicts are gathered out in the courtyard in a circle. Javert digs his heels in sharply. He doesn’t like the look of this at all.

Valjean’s fingers tighten on his neck, pulling him harder. He shoves Javert into the circle, throwing him down upon the ground.

Javert hits the cobblestones hard, pain shooting through his knees. He pushes himself up on his knees, looking around him. Beyond the hard eyes of the convicts, there’s only the impending night and the walls standing sturdily as ever. If there are any other guards, un-captured, watching from beyond the walls, Javert can’t tell.

He’s a fool. He had believed Valjean when he acted as though the thought of rape had never entered his head. Even after the convict had touched him last night Javert hadn’t thought the man would molest him further.

Now he has no idea.

Valjean steps behind him and am expectant murmur passes through the crowd.

“You want a spectacle?” Valjean looks around the circle. He grabs Javert’s hair, pulling his head up, before backhanding Javert across the face and sending him sprawling back to the stone.

Very well. He will give them a spectacle.

Javert starts to push himself up again, when Valjean draws a knife from his belt.

No.” Javert says. He looks around wildly. There is no escape. Valjean shoves him down on the stone, belly first. The knife slides under his shirt, cool against his skin. Javert closes his eyes, holding his breath as the convicts roar in approval. Valjean slits his shirt up the back, leaving it in tatters, before turning to Javert’s trousers.

“No,” Javert kicks out, but Valjean’s got one knee on his bare back, holding him down as he cuts Javert’s trousers from his legs.

Once Javert is lying there naked under him, Valjean stands. “Get on your knees.”

Javert looks at him with murderous eyes, but Valjean doesn't give way. He half raises the knife in his hand, and the convicts laugh and cheer as Javert kneels in front of Valjean.

The roar of the convicts fades to background noise in his ears.

Valjean gazes down at him with an expression Javert can’t read. Then the flat of his palm strikes Javert quickly, first across his right cheek, and then his left. Javert’s head reels back, face stinging. The pain makes him forget that he’s naked in front of a bunch of convicts. Valjean’s hand is strong, but then he already knew that. The weight of it is familiar on his body.

Valjean gazes around the crowd once more, then grabs Javert’s jaw, forcing him to look up.

“Open your mouth.”

Javert jerks in his grasp. “No.” Valjean can't mean it. Not here.

Valjean leans in close. “If you refuse, if you dare to bite me, I will give you to them without a second thought.”

His hand is warm against Javert’s face, and then Valjean takes it away. The look he gives Javert is not insulting, nor derogatory. It’s a challenge.

Javert straightens up. He spreads his knees slightly, keeping his balance upon the stones. He faces Valjean without flinching. He can do this if he must.

Valjean takes his cock out slowly, as though he’s slightly hesitant of this act, hesitant of Javert. He steps closer, brushing his cock across Javert’s lips. “Open up.” His hand rests upon Javert’s head.

Javert opens his mouth, wishing he had the courage to bite down upon the man's shaft. Valjean fills his throat. He’s too big; Javert starts to choke. Valjean fingers tug at Javert’s hair, as he begins fucking Javert’s mouth.

Javert’s eyes water. He strains uselessly at his bonds as the cock is rammed further down his throat, so close his nose brushes Valjean’s pubic hair, inhaling the man’s scent. Valjean swells in his mouth as Javert chokes, spit dribbling out of the sides of his mouth.

Still it continues.

Valjean yanks harder at Javert’s hair, making Javert's scalp throb with pain. He leans forward, letting his cock weigh heavily on Javert’s tongue. Javert gags; Valjean presses harder, and then abruptly, he pulls out of Javert’s mouth, his cock sliding wetly across Javert’s cheek. Pre-come and spittle mix in his mouth. Javert spits the mess out on the stone.

But Valjean isn’t done with him yet. He grips Javert by the hair and holds him firmly in place as his other fist encircles his cock. Quick, hasty strokes, and then Javert’s eyes widen as Valjean’s come lands upon his face, coating his cheeks and nose. Drops fall across his eyelids and his lips. Javert resists the urge to lick his lips.

Valjean lets go of his cock and leans in. “Very good.”

Javert takes a gulp of air, shuddering as his eyes meeting Valjean’s.

Valjean places his hand on Javert’s shoulder, pressing down. Javert lowers his head till his face is almost flat upon the stone. Valjean slits the ropes binding him and steps back.

“Crawl.”

Javert blinks at him uncertainly.

“Go back to your cell, whore and wait for me.” Valjean aims a kick at his flank. “I told you to crawl.”

Javert’s fists clench and then he starts to crawl.

His knees ache as he makes his way across the courtyard, but he makes it, amidst the jeers and insults that follow him.

*  *  *

Javert is still on his knees when Valjean returns to the cell.

"Stand up." Valjean's voice is harsh, an ugly thing to the ears. He can't bear to see Javert like this. Disgust and desire war within his breast, and he fears the victor regardless of who it will be.

Javert gets to his feet slowly. He is indeed a sorry sight. Grit and dirt from the cobblestones cover his hands and knees. Bruises decorate his flesh in a haphazard fashion. Marks from the restraints brand his wrists and ankles. And there upon his backside, faded but still visible, the signature of Valjean's hand yet lingers.

Today Valjean saw all of these far too closely as he watched Javert crawl away from him.

His come lies dried upon the man's face. Something oddly possessive stirs within Valjean. Javert's cock remains uninterested in the situation, yet the man himself grows uncomfortable as Valjean continues to silently look at him. He doesn't cover himself though, what would be the point now?

Valjean reaches into his pocket and pulls out Javert's handkerchief, having taken it from the man's ruined clothing. Now he holds it out to Javert in silent apology. Javert starts to take it automatically, and then stops himself. He shakes his head almost wearily before launching himself at Valjean.

This time Javert has more of an advantage. This time he gets in several blows, causing Valjean at least a moment of pain, but it's still the convict who wins in the end, pressing Javert up against the wall, right arm twisted painfully high behind his back.

Javert expects more punishment, further abuse for his attack, but when Valjean speaks at last his words carry a weight dangerously akin to sadness.

"You did well."

Javert chokes back an incredulous laugh. "You _dare_ say that to me?"

"You survived." Valjean hisses. "It is what we do."

"I am not like you," Javert tells him fiercely. "I am not one of you." He will never be one of them, no matter how long this situation continues.

"You may well be before this is through."

“Never.”

Valjean claps the chain upon his left wrist but leaves the right free. He leaves the cell without another word.

His face itches as Javert waits in the cell. The dried semen clinging to his skin irks him. His throat is dry, but there’s barely any water left in the bucket and Javert won’t beg from Valjean simply to drink, let alone to clean himself. It shouldn’t matter. It _doesn’t_ matter.

Lying to himself has never worked well.

*  *  *

Valjean returns to the cell shortly. There’s an angry set to his shoulders and instinctively Javert hunches into himself. Unfortunately trying not to draw attention to himself only succeeds in bringing Valjean's eyes to rest upon him.

Valjean surveys him for a moment in silence then pinches the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I hope that was enough for them."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you need to piss or anything?" Valjean asks impatiently. “I will be gone from the cell for some time.”

“Go then,” Javert mutters, but his body language betrays him. Valjean waits, and Javert nods at last without looking at him.

Valjean hesitates. "I grow tired of fighting you every time I let you go free."

He keeps the pistol to Javert’s head while he ties his wrists behind his back.

Javert dreads what he knows is coming next. Valjean brings him to the far corner of the cell and takes hold of Javert's cock with gentle fingers. He holds it lightly, aiming it away from Javert. 

"Go on."

Javert glares at him but finally pisses in relief, keeping his eyes resolutely on the wall. At least there’s not much urine in his cock due to the little water they’ve had to drink lately. Valjean gives his cock a light shake, releasing the last few drops before letting go of Javert.

Valjean returns to him to the chains once again. “Sit.”

Javert sits, the stone cold against his backside.

Valjean stalks out of the cell, leaving Javert alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Night slinks over the prison and Javert sits alone in the dark, trying not to think of the day’s events. Valjean doesn’t return, and eventually Javert falls asleep. He dozes off and on, each time jerking awake fitfully, the chain wrenching at his wrist.

At some point he wakes to hear the sound of rain overhead. Through the cell door, he can see Valjean working busily, carrying bucket after bucket outside to catch the rain.

Javert watches him carrying the buckets back and forth, and thinks he will never understand this man.

* * *

When he wakes in the morning, Valjean is still not there.

The day passes in a slow, dull daze. Javert loses track of the hours. He’s distantly aware that he’s hungry, his throat is parched, but it doesn't seem to matter much.

He forgets and touches his face once absentmindedly. The crusted muck comes away on his fingertips and Javert stares at it, then wipes his face as hard as he can on his arm. It doesn’t help. His tongue still tastes of Valjean.

Convicts pass the cell from time to time, occasionally tossing a slur his way. He takes no notice.

Having only one arm chained allows him to move somewhat at least. Javert stretches as best as he can, and then he inspects his chain carefully from all angles. It’s fastened solidly to the wall. There’s no chance of getting free.

Javert pulls at it anyway.

By the time it’s late afternoon, he’s returned to sitting slumped against the wall. His throat is dry as dust.

* * *

This time when Valjean returns to the cell with a fresh bucket of water, Javert doesn’t even look up. Valjean gazes at him worriedly. He scoops up a cup of water and brings it up to Javert’s lips. “Drink.”

Javert does greedily. His free hand rests on Valjean’s as he drinks. The water revives him and Javert leans his head back, gazing at the convict. Next Valjean takes the handkerchief from where it had fallen on the cell floor and dips it in the water. He washes Javert’s face and Javert lets him, though he imagines his fist tightening around Valjean’s throat the entire time. Each touch of the handkerchief is considered carefully and gently done, making it all the worse to bear.

“There.” Valjean sits back. He allows himself half a cup of water and sets the bucket aside.

“Why do you persist in this charade?” Javert demands hoarsely. “Clearly your goal is to degrade me as much is humanly possible in revenge.” Why throw in the rare moments of compassion to confuse Javert?

Valean leans in so close his bearded cheek almost touches Javert’s face. “If that was my aim I would have fucked you in that courtyard until you begged for mercy.”

This close, his eyes are startling, endless and mournful. Javert’s lost for words as Valjean gazes at him until the silence is overwhelming and Valjean is the first to pull away.

* * *

Valjean leaves him alone after that, pacing in silence. Every now and then he stops underneath the window to gaze up at the sky.

Javert has no real desire to speak to Valjean, but he’s been alone in silence all day.

“What did you mean?” His voice is a rasp.

“What?”

“Yesterday you said you hoped it was enough for them?”

Valjean leans against the wall, folding his arms across his chest as he gazes at Javert.

It’s still discomfiting being naked around Valjean. The man doesn’t leer at him outright. It’s more the heavy knowledge of his desire, coupled with how Javert remembers Valjean touching him that one night. Javert still doesn't know what to make of that. Clearly Valjean had desired it for a long time, and yet, he hadn’t taken Javert in front of a crowd of convicts.

Valjean’s gaze shifts away from him. “Ah, they wanted...the men are restless. The rest of the guards are being shared amongst them. Mercier thought if…”

Javert flinches. He’s worked alongside those men for years. To think of them being used in that way is dreadul. Still, what lies behind Valjean’s words catches his attention.

“Why not me?”

Valjean’s carefully not looking at him. “I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Why not?” Javert’s frustration builds and he pulls at his chain. All he’s doing is repeat himself. He leans forward and _there_ , Valjean’s eyes dart down between his legs, and quickly away again.

“Do you want me for yourself? Is that it? _This?_ ” Javert grabs his cock angrily and now Valjean’s attention is entirely focused on him. “Why don’t you come and take it then?”

“Because I’m better than that.” Valjean says flatly.

“Are you?” Javert sneers. “Is that what you tell yourself at night, rutting into your palm while you think of my mouth on your cock, my body trapped under yours?”

It’s Valjean’s turn to flinch and Javert presses on, mercilessly.

“You think of me all right, when you spend between your thieving hands.”

Once again he misjudged the speed lying in Valjean’s limbs, as well as the danger waiting there, for suddenly Valjean pushes off the wall. He’s across the cell in an instant, jerking Javert up by the hair. Javert hits back with his free hand and Valjean grabs it, slamming it into the wall hard. He has a knee between Javert’s legs and Javert can’t breathe as the man nudges at him warningly.

“Perhaps that’s what _you_ desire.” Valjean tells him, his words sharp enough to cut. “Perhaps it’s you who dreams of me, in your bed at night when you’re gone from here, and you miss the sight and the stench of this accursed place. It’s _I_ who won’t let you sleep then, it’s I who haunt _your_ dreams.”

Javert struggles, but the knee presses against his balls and he stills.

“I wouldn’t debase myself with a convict.” He spits at Valjean.

Valjean doesn’t blink as Javert’s spit trails down his cheek. “Yet, you would crawl at my command to save your life.” He observes.

Javert jerks in his grasp like an animal caught in a trap. “Why don’t you just do it already? So I can stop dreading it?” He doesn't mean to say the second part aloud, but there it lies between them.

Valjean’s hands fly off him as though he’s been burned. “Because I don’t want someone who dreads it.” He stands there, chest heaving with emotion.

A far cleverer man would play to Valjean’s desire, make some sort of bargain with the convict in order to survive. Javert can’t do that, even to live through this.

 _Isn’t that what you did in the courtyard when Valjean ordered you to crawl?_ A cruel voice whispers in Javert’s head. _A man would have fought back then and there_.

Javert’s face burns with shame at the memory. It should cost little to now kneel before Valjean willingly. But he can’t do it. The other guards have no choice in what’s being done to them. But here Valjean’s merely keeping him as some sort of pet, as some strange design of keeping him safe. Javert finds it baffling.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just let them have me?” At this point Javert doesn’t know why he’s still speaking.

“Perhaps.” Valjean shrugs. “That matters little.”

“Would you do it if you didn’t desire me?” Javert dares to ask next. He marvels at the way he’s learning how Valjean will react, measuring the signs of his body, the tightening of his jaw, the resigned set to his shoulders.

“Perhaps. Though probably not.”

Valjean watches Javert consider this, taking this opportunity to drink in the sight of the man’s body unabashedly. His eyes travel over every bruise, every curve of flesh. The guard isn’t a small man in stature or, Valjean eyes his cock again. Every aspect of Javert is pleasing to the eye. Their struggles have been worthwhile at least in that he's gotten to enjoy the feel of Javert’s body against his.

Valjean turns his back on Javert, returning to gaze at the sky. In spite of his words, in spite of his resolve not to touch Javert again, his cock hardens in his trousers.

“Why me?” Javert breaks the silence and Valjean looks over his shoulder at him. “I’ve never shown you a kind word. I’ve never,” he studies the floor, struggling to find the words.

Valjean takes pity on him. “You're not unnecessarily cruel. You don’t mistreat the prisoners in your care. You’re stern, but fair. That’s rare to find in a guard.”

Javert blinks in surprise, looking up at him. The wondering look in his eyes is too much. Valjean’s resolve fades away like morning dew. He places his hand on his trousers and takes a deep breath, the heat flooding his hand.

“Yes, I think of you.” Valjean draws his cock out shamelessly.

For once Javert doesn't turn away; instead he watches mutely, focused on Valjean's cock. The other day he had been too distraught to fully take it in, now he can do nothing else. It’s as large as he thought. Valjean’s cock swells in his hand. He strokes his hand from the base of it, buried in a nest of thick curly hair, down to the head.

“I think of you bare, as you are now. I think of how it would feel to sink inside you, to bury myself in your flesh.”

Javert’s throat convulses, his skin growing heated as though he’s sitting too close to a fire. He draws his legs up close in an effort to hide his arousal. What’s the matter with him that he finds stimulation in Valjean’s words?

“I think of you arching up under me,” Valjean whispers. “Taking my cock willingly, eager for more.”

Javert’s cheeks burn at hearing such things. He would never. Yet his cock grows hard between his legs, and he moans softly, not wanting Valjean to see this shame, as he's seen everything else.

“Your body feels magnificent against mine. It’s never long before I spill inside you.”

Valjean’s hand has been working busily and as he falls silent, his cock spasms, swirls of come landing on the straw between them.

Javert licks his lips, unable to take his eyes from him. His cock aches and he wishes he were anywhere other than here.

It’s too late, Valjean’s spotted his discomfort. Javert closes his eyes as Valjean kneels beside him. Slowly his hand ventures between Javert’s legs, closing upon Javert’s desperation. Javert keeps his eyes firmly shut. If he looks into Valjean’s eyes as he did before, he’s afraid of what he’ll find there.

“There, there,” Valjean whispers, his thumb strokes along the underside of Javert’s cock, caressing him. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Javert’s eyelids flutter, but he keeps them closed. Valjean knows nothing of shame.

“Have you ever thought of me?” Valjean’s mouth is close to his ear, his breath hot upon Javert's skin.

Javert trembles under his touch. He can’t. The man’s fingers play him ruthlessly and he gasps. “Yes. God in heaven, yes.” It was just once, but his conscience will never let him forget it.

“Tell me.” Valjean cups his balls, caressing them.

“It was just once.” Javert manages. “After the day you lifted that beam.” He whimpers as Valjean’s hand slides down his length once more. “I’d never seen anyone with that strength. You lifted it as though it were nothing.”

“What did you do?”

“That night in bed…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My cock was in my hand before I knew it,” He squirms at the memory and Valjean’s hand stills.

“Did you like it?”

At that Javert’s eyes open. He faces Valjean evenly. “No. Afterward I was disgusted with myself.” He waits for Valjean’s hand to turn cruel. Instead Valjean returns to stroking him.

“Then we are of the same mind. For I dislike the desire I have for you just as much.” He speeds up his strokes and Javert’s fingers dig tightly into his own thigh as he comes, spilling over Valjean’s hand.

Valjean’s hand caresses his hair and then he slumps down beside Javert, leaning his head back against the wall. He’d never expected Javert to actually tell him anything.

Now that the weight of his confession has lifted, Javert appears almost relaxed, and Valjean can’t stop gazing at him.

*  *  *

For one brief glorious moment the world had narrowed to only this lustrous splinter of bliss. Now the illusion fades, the true world intrudes once more and with it, Javert’s conscience. His visions steadies, and Javert finds Valjean seated beside him, their shoulders practically touching.

Javert draws his knees up tight to his chest, burying his face against his arm. He can’t bear to look at Valjean. He can’t escape this degradation.

Valjean reaches out a hand, hesitating over Javert’s hair, and then retreats without touching him. He wishes he could ease Javert’s pain, but right now, the only kind thing to do is leave the man alone.

* * *

Javert wakes with a crick in his neck, and his cock at half-mast. He curses himself for this weakness, but then he realizes Valjean isn’t there to witness his embarrassment. The cell is empty. That’s something of a relief.

By the time Valjean returns, Javert’s arousal has faded somewhat, though his mortification about the previous night still lingers.

Valjean’s carrying a bundle of clothes. Silently he sets them down in front of Javert. “They’re all I could find.” It's the uniform of the prison.

Javert wants to ask why, but instead what comes out is, “Thank you.”

Valjean looks just as surprised to hear it as Javert is to speak it. He nods shortly, unlocking Javert's chain. Valjean hesitates, then pushes the bucket of water closer to Javert, and goes out again.

Javert pulls the trousers on quickly. Once his dignity is recovered somewhat, he takes his time washing.

Javert scoops up the water and splashes it over his face. He’s starting to feel like a fucking animal. There isn't water enough to wash himself all over, but he soaks his handkerchief and starts cleaning the grime from his face and neck. The suggestion of cleanliness makes him feel marginally better at least.

Valjean stands in the doorway to the cell, watching Javert wash. The curve of Javert's bare back as he bends forward is a beautiful thing. The informal state of undress suits Javert. He looks more his age here, stripped to the waist. Javert is younger than himself, but that’s a fact Valjean often forgets.

Javert splashes a handful of water over his neck and Valjean watches as the drops cascade lightly down his back.

It's entirely his own fault he sighs at the sight, and Javert turns to see him standing there.

"I didn't mean to use so much water." He backs away from the bucket as Valjean advances.

Valjean shrugs. "As long as you left some for me."

He brings a mouthful up to his lips and Javert speaks without thinking. "Yes, your face could do with a wash."

Valjean looks amused. "Is that right?"

He scratches at his beard. "I'd prefer a shave, but a wash surely couldn't go amiss." What he’d like is to bathe in a river. Unbidden, his mind imagines Javert bare in the water.

"Go on then," Javert nods at the buckets as he pulls on the shirt.

Valjean shakes his head. "We don't know how long," He goes silent.

Javert gazes down at his kerchief. It's still damp. Silently he holds it out to Valjean.

Valjean stares it, then takes it. He brushes it over his face slowly. This handkerchief has touched Javert's face. It's a filthy scrap of cloth, but Valjean uses it almost reverently and hands it back to him. As Javert takes it their fingers brush.

Valjean swallows hoarsely. He would not add rape to his list of crimes, but he longs for something from Javert, something wordless and unreachable, something that Javert will never give him freely.

* * *

It’s a day of restless quiet. Valjean leaves him locked in the cell, but unbound for the first time. Javert takes the opportunity to pace back and forth endlessly, stretching his legs fully for the first time in days. He feels as though he will never work out all the kinks. The prison uniform itches, the material foreign and unwelcome against his skin. Javert knows the ridiculous figure he cuts wearing it, can only imagine what the convicts will say at seeing him dressed like this.

In another lifetime, this would have been his coat.  
  
The thought makes Javert want to tear the coarse shirt from his back and fling it away from him. Only common reason keeps him from doing it. He couldn’t handle another day being kept naked in the prison. Any shirt is better than nothing.  
  
He wonders if his father looked like this when he met his mother. Had it happened like this? A young convict, and a foolish young girl, all too willing to spread her legs? Had his father looked at her the way Valjean gazes at him?  
  
A blush rises in Javert’s cheek. What would it matter if he had? Look where such heated gazes had gotten his mother. At least Valjean’s touches, no matter how unwanted, won’t leave him with child.  
  
A deep shudder runs through Javert and he sinks down to his knees, suddenly choking with laughter. The whole situation isn’t humorous, and yet all Javert can do is laugh and laugh and laugh.  
  
He fears he’s going mad.  
  
A heavy weight passes from Javert’s shoulders, and he straightens his back, resting his palms flat on his thighs. A thin line of sunlight shines through the narrow cell window. Javert gazes up at the sun, letting the faintest trace of a smile cross his lips.  
  
Javert watches the sunlight until his legs ache and he shifts position finally, moving to sit against the wall, opposite the cell door so he can see Valjean coming when he returns.  
  
* * *

When he thinks of last night, the way Valjean’s hand felt upon him…Javert’s skin grows warm at the memory.  
  
What is this man doing to him? Javert wants nothing to do with him, and yet he can’t put Valjean from his mind. With every passing moment, Valjean presents more and more of a quandary. How can a convict have such dangerous passion within him, and yet be such a gentle man at heart?  
  
Javert has seen Valjean fight, brawling with other convicts, resisting the guards. He’s seen the strength Valjean possesses firsthand (and his blush grows even more at that thought). Everything about the man speaks as to his violent nature. Valjean is first and foremost a criminal and he will remain so forever.  
  
Yet Javert's also seen Valjean show kindness to new convicts when they first arrive at the prison when other prisoners would have forced certain abuses upon them in exchange for their protection.  
  
The man is a contradiction.  
  
Javert can’t fit the puzzle of him together. None of the pieces fit, and he only knows that if you had asked him before this, he would have said Valjean was merely a beast to be controlled with a stick. Now Javert has no answers for himself, yet alone a hypothetical interrogator pressing the question upon him. Before now Javert would have gladly died before allowing one of the convicts to touch him, let himself be shot before he touched them willingly.  
  
And yet Valjean was right. Javert had crawled at his command rather than fight. He had obeyed Valjean's orders to the letter, even though once inside the prison he could have gone to another cell. But no, he had returned here.  
  
 _What is the man doing to him?_  
  
This siege can’t continue forever. Eventually the convicts will have to surrender. Still, Valjean’s words linger with him. _We want our freedom. Failing that, we want to be treated better._  
  
In the hallway he can see Valjean approaching. Javert straightens his back against the wall. He crawled to survive, no more, no less. He _will_ survive this, and he will wear his true uniform once more.

*  * *

Javert stands as Valjean comes down the hall. He can see other convicts going past the man, heading outside the prison. For once they don’t pay any attention whatsoever to Javert.  
  
Valjean unlocks the door and steps in quickly. “Here.” He holds out a small piece of bread to Javert. “Take it, I must go back.”  
  
“What’s happening?” Javert asks. From the sound of it, something’s going on out in the courtyard, but he can’t tell what it is from here in the cell. He looks past Valjean’s shoulder, but can’t see anything.  
  
“They’re trying to decide what to do. “ Valjean’s impatient, and Javert takes the bread, but he catches the man’s wrist.  
  
Valjean freezes, staring down at his hand touching him.  
  
Javert pulls it back immediately. “May I come with you?” He’s been alone in the cell day, and now, the thought of Valjean leaving again while something important is clearly on the verge of transpiring is maddening.  
  
Valjean hesitates. “It would be safer for you in the cell.”  
  
Javert doesn’t back down though, and Valjean sighs. “I’ll have to tie your hands.”  
  
Javert shrugs his shoulders minutely, as if to say he expected nothing less. He eats his morsel of bread hastily while Valjean fetches the length of rope.  
  
Valjean loops his wrists together loosely. “Stay behind me, and keep quiet.” He advises. “It’s not going particularly well.”  
  
He hesitates. It’s a mistake to take Javert out there with him, but how can he refuse? It’s not as though it doesn’t concern him. They’re in this together, convicts and prisoners alike.  
  
*  *  *  
  
The majority of the convicts are gathered around outside the prison. The water has almost run out. All of the bread is gone. One of the their captives can barely walk now, but they just exchanged the second of the guards. It’s too quick to arrange another trade. The last negotiation with the prison authorities went too poorly. The authorities are balking, dragging their heels in the attempt to make the convicts come to their senses.  
  
There is talk of storming out of the prison. What are they to do? Let their hunger grow as the police just wait them out? What good will that do?  
  
Valjean stands near the outer wall, Javert half shadowed behind him. The broadness of Valjean’s shoulders requires Javert to keep sidling around him to see what’s going on, and Valjean keeps automatically nudging him back. He may have brought Javert out here, but he’s not going to allow anything to happen to him.    
  
“They will riot.” Javert mutters behind Valjean. Every passing moment draws the convicts closer to violence. The scent of it is rising off them, rank as fear.    
  
“It’s hard to reason with desperate men.” Valjean murmurs back. They’re all growing hungrier. What is he to do? Not all men are as determined to the cause as he is.  
  
Mercier holds up his hands for silence. “Tomorrow we will speak again with the authorities, and if they know what’s good for them, they will agree to our terms.”  
  
“But what of tonight?” One of the convicts shouts, and there’s a roar of agreement from around him.  
  
Javert takes the opportunity to search out the other guards among the crowd. The remaining four men look slightly worse for wear, huddled together up against the wall, except for Morel who’s lying in a heap. His clothes are tattered, and there’s something about the wretched way his limbs rest that makes Javert feel faint.  
  
One of the convicts kicks Morel in the hip. "What of this one?”  
  
“We should slit his throat.”  
  
They kick him again, and Javert stirs. It’s shameful to treat any man in this fashion, but to be so cruel to a wounded man is unpardonable. When a third kick is aimed at the man he has to act.  
  
“Let him go.” Javert speaks up loudly, though he knows it’s foolish.  
  
Heads turn in his direction.  
  
Mercier frowns at the interruption. “Keep your whore silent, Valjean, or we will.”  
  
Javert’s entire body goes rigid at the word. Valjean grasps his shoulder, pushing him back. “Be silent.”  
  
Javert digs his heels in, refusing to budge. “The man is no longer of any use to them. If there is one good man amongst you, for the love of god, let him go.”  
  
Valjean eyes him curiously. “You plead his case, but not your own. Why?”  
  
“You wouldn’t let me go until the last trumpets of revelation have sounded, and even then I’m not so sure.” Javert doesn’t intend it humorously, but Valjean stares at him, until suddenly the lines of his face are creased with silent laughter.

His hand still rests upon Javert’s shoulder. “And what would you do, if I let him go?” Valjean’s attention is half on the situation at hand, half on Javert.  
  
What does he mean? He can’t mean... But the other guard won’t be able to go on, and if they continue to mistreat him, he’ll be crippled long before he’s released.  
  
Javert licks his lips. “What do you want?” The words are the wrong words; he doesn’t mean them like that, but they’ve been spoken all the same. It’s too late to drag them back into the dark.  
  
Valjean swings his head back to face him. Something about the words give him pause, and then. “You,” Valjean’s hand falls away from his shoulder. “Would you give yourself to me, if I saved this man?”  
  
Javert wants to spit on him, to smash his face into Valjean’s and run. He knows what will happen if he does. He takes a deep breath and says as steadily as he can. “Is that your price?”  
  
Valjean hesitates. "And if it was?"  
  
Javert will not be a whore to any man; he will not play the willing wanton for Jean Valjean of all men. He will not moan and beg to be taken as though he desires it.  
  
But he will sacrifice his dignity for another’s life. There is no shame in that.  
  
“Then I will pay it.”  
  
He half expects Valjean to drag him back to the cell then and there, forcing him down upon the straw, but instead Valjean just stares relentlessly into his eyes and then abruptly nods.  
  
He leaves Javert there in the corner and strides over to the crumpled guard. “He needs a physician.”  
  
“He needs a good drubbing.” Bellamy spits on the man.  
  
“If you kill him, it won’t aid our cause. If we return him now, it might gain some favor.” Valjean scoops up the miserable figure and carries him out of the cell. Not a single convict moves to stop him.  
  
Javert leans back against the prison wall, watching him go. In another life Valjean would have stood as a great leader of men, instead of a convict bound in chains.

*  *  *

After a short while Valjean returns empty-handed. Understandably the authorities are angry over the state of the guard, but grateful nevertheless for his return. They have promised another cartload of bread and water in the morning.  
  
He looks through the crowd of men and catches sight of Javert standing there, waiting for him.  
  
Javert straightens his shoulders and walks back to their cell as though he were about to face a firing squad.

*  *  *

Valjean takes a moment before he enters the cell. He can scarcely believe this is happening; he had half expected Javert to refuse the deal.  
  
But when he finally walks into the cell Javert stands there, hands clasped behind his back, awaiting his fate. Javert holds himself stiffly as Valjean locks the cell door, drawing the key in after him through the bars. This time it's not to lock Javert in; it's to keep the world out.  
  
Javert speaks first. "Morel’s safe?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Javert nods, more to himself than Valjean. "Good."  
  
A better man would release Javert from this bargain, let him go without fulfilling his oath. Once, a long time ago, Valjean would have been that man. But he's been in prison too long; he knows the weight of the chains and the long lonely hours. Valjean knows all too well that it will be many years before he's released and any semblance of physical affection or passion is as distant to him as the stars. This is all he has. He can't surrender it now.  
  
More than that, it's all he desires.  
  
Valjean’s carrying a blanket that Javert recognizes as being from the warden's storage cupboard. Hesitantly he spreads it out on the least filthy part of the cell floor.  
  
"What would you have of me?" Javert dares ask.  
  
"Take off your clothes," Valjean busies himself with discarding his own shirt, all the while watching Javert as he slowly removes first his shirt and then his trousers.  
  
Valjean shucks his own trousers and underclothes - and they face each other bare.  
  
Valjean savors the sight of Javert standing there naked. Javert’s body is gloriously defiant as he waits for Valjean to touch him. He’s half hard, whether from nerves or arousal, Valjean can’t tell and doesn’t care.  
  
Javert's chin is slightly upturned. It's taking all his courage to stand there without trembling before Valjean. At last Valjean can resist no longer. He closes the distance between them, reaching out to cup that obstinate chin with his hand.  
  
"What're you doing?" Javert's instinct is pull away but Valjean's grip is not unkind. The fingers holding him are merely assessing him.  
  
"You said you would give yourself to me,"  
  
Javert swallows, "Yes, but," that doesn't explain why Valjean keeps delaying the act itself. _Get on with it._  
  
"Then I want all," Valjean's mouth closes upon Javert's before he knows what's happening. He has imagined all sorts of indignities, but not this. He's not prepared for this. The soft yet persistent exploration of Valjean's tongue against his, the hand gripping his jaw firmly in place, then Valjean drags his teeth over Javert's lower lip and Javert gasps.  
  
Valjean pulls off, breathing harshly. His bare form stands far more imposing than his clothed one. Javert can feel the heat rising from his skin, and he knows the weight against his thigh is Valjean’s aroused cock, heavy with need.  
  
"Lie down."  
  
Javert’s glad to turn his back on the convict. Facing Valjean is too much. He kneels on the blanket, prepared to lie on his belly.  
  
“On your back.” Valjean commands, and a slow, heated flush spreads across Javert’s body. He presses his lips together, determined not to speak out as he obeys. He made this bargain after all. The sooner he faces it, the sooner it will be done with. If he must actually lie face to face with Valjean, so be it.  
  
The blanket is thin and scratchy under Javert’s skin, but Javert isn't thinking of the blanket.  
  
Valjean kneels between his thighs, pushing them further apart.  
  
Javert's flush travels all the way down his chest. He turns his face away, staring at the wall.  
  
"Look up at me," Valjean whispers. _Come on, Javert. Just look at me. Just once._  
  
At last Javert stares up at him with resolution in his eyes. Valjean leans over him, entirely focused on his prey.  
  
"Bring your knees up," Valjean instructs, and Javert thinks now would be a good time to die of shame.  
  
He raises his knees and Valjean’s hands slide down his thighs to his backside, spreading his cheeks. Javert squirms, his hands clenching into fists at his side as Valjean settles himself, Javert’s knees on either side of his hips.  
  
Valjean sucks in a breath, gazing down at him in wonder. Javert’s completely exposed to him now, and Valjean  knows he is most likely the very first one to ever see the young man like this. The thought only makes him harder.  
  
“What’re you waiting for?” Javert gives in and asks when he sees Valjean simply staring at him.  
   
Valjean just shakes his head. “You.”  
  
Javert squirms again, and then freezes as Valjean’s hand rests over his hole. Lightly, so lightly he can barely feel it at first, Valjean's thumb strokes over him _there_ , and a deep tremor passes through Javert’s body from his head to his toes.  
  
Valjean does it again, and again, fascinated at how Javert’s body reacts to each touch. His breath tightens, coming now in shallow pants. The flush has returned to his cheek (indeed if it ever left to begin with). His knees are tense against Valjean’s hips, and his cock, _sweet jesus_ , his cock is pressed hard against his stomach. Valjean runs his other hand from the base of Javert’s cock to the tip, feeling the rigid flesh tremble helplessly beneath his fingers.  
  
Slowly, oh so slowly, Javert’s body opens to Valjean’s persistent caresses.  
  
If Javert could speak, he’d be objecting to this. Indeed, Valjean half expects the guard to demand Valjean stop delaying and fuck him already. But when he raises his eyes to Javert’s face, he sees the struggle for control warring there, and knows that if Javert speaks, he’s lost.  
  
Valjean spits on his hand, slicking his cock. Javert eyes it warily. He's heard many things in his years working in the prison. None of that readies him for the sight of Valjean bending over him, Valjean's thick cock striving eagerly between his legs.  
  
Javert resists turning back to gaze at the wall. He can face this. Yes, it’s obscene, and degrading lying spread open under a convict, but it will be over soon enough. Then his breath catches as Valjean’s forefinger slips inside him. Javert can barely breathe; his stomach is taut with tension and arousal. Valjean pushes deeper inside him.  
  
That moan doesn't belong to Javert, that needy cry would never come from his lips.  
  
Valjean adds a second finger and Javert winces as he’s stretched open by rough, broad strokes. When Valjean removes his fingers at last, relief washes over him briefly, only to fade as Valjean presses the tip of his cock to Javert's hole.  
  
Valjean glances at him and Javert sets his jaw. _Get on with it._  
  
This time it’s as though Valjean can read his mind because he pushes inside Javert with one sharp thrust, bracing his palms against the floor, his forearms holding his weight against Javert.  
  
Javert grits his teeth against the stinging pain washing over him. Surely it will pass, it must. But it's too dry. Javert can't relax, and Valjean can't bear to wait. He moves again, pressing further and this time Javert can’t help the grunt of pain crossing his lips.  
  
"Take a breath," Valjean directs.  
  
Javert's stomach tightens, uncomfortably aware of Valjean’s cock inside him as he obeys. He’s too full, stretched to bruising. Valjean can feel him shivering all around his cock as he lies there, trying to grow accustomed to the weight of the man resting inside him.  
  
"There," he brushes his hand gently over Javert's hip. "There."  
  
"I'm not a horse you're trying to gentle," The words grate across Javert’s tongue.  
  
The absurdity of the comment strikes Valjean as funny and he chuckles. "But I am trying to ride you."  
  
He pretends he doesn't see the corners of Javert's mouth struggling to decide whether to surrender in a smile or keep to its frown.  
  
"Well, then." Javert turns his head slightly, meeting his gaze. "You have ridden before, have you not?"  
  
"It's been many years." Valjean tells him quietly. Now it's as though it happened to another man, someone entirely apart from him, and this is the first time he's touched anyone as he's touching Javert now.  
  
Javert appears more at ease beneath him, so Valjean starts to move.  
  
It’s uncomfortable, Javert can’t deny this. Every thrust of Valjean’s cock jolts his frame. His knuckles are white against the sparse blanket. Valjean withdraws partially and eases back again. It’s slightly improved this time, but he seeks better still.  
  
Grasping Javert’s legs, Valjean lifts them up against his arms, thrusting in a third time. Javert gasps at the altered angle. It’s both better and worse all at once. Valjean’s seeking to possess him entirely, and no matter how Javert tries to retire elsewhere in his mind, there is only here and now with this man filling him till it’s the only thing Javert can think of. Valjean’s cock seems unflagging as he thrusts into Javert. Javert’s legs can feel the strain in Valjean’s muscles as the man moves steadily, his own cock curved desperately against his belly.

Abruptly, Valjean slows his pace. He wants this moment to last as long as possible. Unhurriedly, he withdraws from Javert who stares up at him with confused eyes.  
  
“You haven’t,”  
  
“Shhh,” Valjean places his hand on his belly, rubbing light teasing circles across Javert’s skin as he lowers his head.  
  
Javert closes his eyes as Valjean’s mouth descends upon him. He can’t believe Valjean is doing this act willingly. No doubt the convict wants to make Javert all the more desperate and then leave him there unsatisfied, but the mouth tantalizing him isn’t cruel in its motions. No, instead it seems almost desirous of Javert.  
  
Valjean licks across Javert’s cock right down to the head, teasing him there with slight, toying licks. At this Javert’s hips buck upward in a most undignified way. Valjean’s hand still moves upon on his belly, solid and firm, centering Javert in case he's tempted again to pretend this isn’t happening. Valjean drags his tongue along the length of Javert’s cock in thick, generous strokes. Working steadily he draws Javert’s body into a frenzy, allowing him to hover right above the precipice of ecstasy. His balls ache, heavy and full. His cock no longer belongs to him. It’s been stolen by Valjean. Now Javert’s hips rise helplessly to meet his mouth with every movement, causing Valjean to smile against his cock.  
  
“Why’re you smiling?” Javert’s voice is hoarse. For a moment Valjean is embarrassed. He’d thought Javert still had his eyes closed, had never dreamed he was watching him. He pauses, considering his answer.  
  
“Because I delight in this.” Valjean says simply. “To give pleasure, to finally gain something you’ve desired for years.” He breaks off, staring as Javert’s face is suffused with embarrassed heat.  
  
“Don’t,” Javert shoves a hand down over his crotch, but Valjean merely captures it, pressing it down to the floor.  
  
“You made this bargain,” he reminds Javert, “And I will have your pleasure whether you desire it or not.” Valjean recaptures Javert’s cock, taking him as deep as he can. He can feel Javert’s hand trembling under his fingers, Javert’s cock thrusting violently upward in his mouth as he comes. Valjean swallows it all down and holds him in his mouth until Javert’s hips finally still. Only when he's utterly spent does Valjean release him.  
  
Javert lies motionless upon the cell floor as Valjean enters him again. Even so, he can’t help uttering a small inarticulate cry as sheer exquisite pleasure pierces him. Now Valjean moves in him, sending feather tips of bliss brushing across his skin. He’s being consumed utterly, and his flesh, sated as it is, craves even more.  
  
Each stroke of Valjean’s cock inside him leaves him raw and desperate. Just as Javert thinks he can bear it no longer, Valjean shudders helplessly over him, his body straining with the force of his orgasm. Javert bites as his lip as Valjean comes hot and quick, filling him.  
  
Instead of pulling out, Valjean simply rests there, bracing himself with his palms as he gazes down at Javert. There's no escaping his scrutiny so Javert stares back at him as boldly as he can.  
  
"Don't your arms tire?"  
  
Valjean shakes his head. He's reluctant to withdraw. Once he does, this will be over. He rocks his hips almost lazily, loving the way Javert shivers under him, his belly tense with sweat.  
  
He leans down to mouth at Javert’s chest, trailing a rough kiss across Javert’s skin. At last he eases free, Javert’s body almost seeming reluctant to release him.  
  
Valjean stretches out upon his back, mostly off the blanket so that Javert may have the majority of it. He's infinitely surprised when Javert doesn't pull away.  
  
"Are you too sore?" Valjean keeps his voice low.  
  
"It will pass." Javert keeps his gaze on the roof.  
  
His bare hip yet draws Valjean's attention. He wants to run his fingers over it; he wants to do so many things.  
  
His hand stays still.  
  
*  * *

Javert has no words. He’s both in a state of utter satiated splendor and complete despair. For how can he have enjoyed that ravishment, and yet he _had_. When he looks over at Valjean, his body plagues him with memories of pleasure. At the thought of Valjean’s touch, he quivers in anticipation. How can he hunger for the touch of a convict? How can he desire this man?  
  
Valjean gazes back at him and then before he can stop himself, he leans over and kisses Javert. There's a moment that lasts an eternity and then Javert’s lips part. Valjean hand cups his cheek and Javert’s tongue is in his mouth, returning his kisses.  
  
When he has to draw breath, Valjean pulls back gasping as Javert stares up at him.  
  
Valjean stands unsteadily. “You should get dressed.” If Javert remains like this, as wild and hungry a creature as Valjean, he’ll have to have him all over again and Valjean no longers possesses the right.  
  
Javert obeys silently. The clothing lies even more unfamiliarly against his skin now. Javert’s body has been transformed.  
  
Valjean hesitates. “Come with me.” He doesn’t bind Javert, he simply goes and Javert follows.  
  
Valjean leads him past the sleeping convicts, out into the courtyard. When he sees the night sky at last, Javert stops dead. He’d never realized how much he missed it before they put him in a cell.  
  
He can feel Valjean standing close behind him, but not too close, careful to allow him room to breathe. The man is strangely considerate that way, but then he’s known the discomforts of being a prisoner far longer than Javert has.  
  
In silence, Javert gazes upward at the stars. The night sky is wondrous to behold in all its majesty. He finds the northern star, and a peculiar calmness creeps over him. It’s still there, constant as ever.  
  
“I saw you looking out the window the other night.” Valjean murmurs. “You can barely see the stars from there.”  
  
“That is…” Javert hesitates, catching word _kind_ on his tongue before it can escape. Valjean looks at him curiously and he simply mutters. “Thank you.”  
  
Valjean merely nods in acknowledgement and they both turn their attention back to the stars overhead.

*  *  *

For the first time since the prison siege started, Javert sleeps peacefully.  
  
When he wakes, it's his turn to watch Valjean washing unaware that he’s being observed. Valjean splashes a handful of water over his face, scrubbing roughly at his cheeks with his fingers. Javert studies the arch of his spine. The scars that crisscross Valjean’s back are not unfamiliar to him, for he has laid half of them there himself.  
  
What would it be like to cover those scars with his mouth? Javert blushes at the thought, but it will not leave him in peace. Such an act on his part would surprise Valjean no end. He thinks it would be pleasant to see surprise upon Valjean’s face.  
  
There is a loaf of fresh bread lying on the blanket besides Javert.  
  
“They kept their word then,” he murmurs.  
  
Valjean glances at him, pulling his shirt back over his head. The scars are safely covered once more and Javert forces himself to return to his former manner. One night of (Passion? Surrender? God in heaven, he’s been turned into a fool) doesn’t change what they are.  
  
“Half the bread was delivered this morning.” Valjean confirms. “The rest will be delivered later this afternoon.” He tucks his shirt into his trousers, and Javert takes the opportunity to imagine those are his hands, dipping into Valjean’s clothing, his hands working the folds of cloth.  
  
 _You’ve ruined me,_ he thinks, but then he remembers that forced confession wrung from him by Valjean’s steady hand, that he had thought of Valjean at night in his own bed. Perhaps he’s always been ruined.  
  
They eat their meal of bread together in silence.  Soft, light pieces that stick in Javert's throat. Valjean eats more steadily. He sips his portion of water carefully after he’s given the cup to Javert to drink.  
  
"How much longer will they hold out?" Javert asks. _How much longer will you?_ He knows what Valjean seeks to gain from this, but ultimately he must know that nothing at the prison will change.  
  
"As long as it takes," Valjean answers.  
  
"And when they win at last?" Javert dares ask.  
  
Valjean’s eyes narrow. "Then we will fight again."  
  
Javert gazes at the man’s hands. They’ve tensed into fists, and the urge to place his own upon them, to calm that rising anger in Valjean’s chest, is almost overwhelming.  
  
“The other exchange...” Valjean says finally. “I need a guard to accompany me.” He waits.

Finally Javert realizes what he’s saying. “You wish me to go with you?”  
  
“If you want any say in what happens to you,” Valjean brooks no argument. “You will tell them it’s wisest to agree to terms, if they want to reclaim the prison before the beginning of summer.”  
  
“You think you can hold out that long?” Javert stares at him incredulously. “Already the men are near starving.” Valjean must know how perilously close they are to breaking.  
  
Valjean just looks at him. “We have four guards left now. You are one of them.”  
  
Javert swallows. “And you expect me to just do it?”  
  
 “The other guards are too cowed by their circumstances. You will speak truthfully, no matter what I could do to quell you, and they will believe you.”  
  
Javert looks at him strangely. “You don’t think me cowed by circumstances?”  
  
“I think you as strong and resolute a man as ever.”  
  
Javert lowers his eyes; the look in Valjean’s is too much for him.  
  
“Very well,” he murmurs.

*  *  *  
  
The hours pass achingly slow as they wait. Javert sits without thinking, and then winces, remembering yet again what happened last night and he stands, leaning back against the prison wall.  
  
His body remembers every thrust of Valjean’s cock, every caress of Valjean’s hands…every touch of his lips.  
  
Will his mind ever let him forget?  
  
At last Valjean stands, and Javert straightens up.  
  
“If I tie you, they will say you are my savage dog, as yet untamed. If I leave your hands bare, they will call you my pet, brought to heel.” He gives Javert the choice.  
  
“I would rather walk beside you as a man. Let them call me what they wish.” _Valjean’s whore_. He says it to himself, that is what they will call him. It stings, but this time it’s because Javert fears it’s true.

*  *  *

The sun is hot upon the back of his neck. Javert squints, holding up a hand to block the sunlight. One of the other prisoners shoves him forward.  
  
“Move along.”  
  
He feels degraded, standing here in his prison shirt and trousers, bare feet treading warily upon the damp stone. As if they have only to look at him and they will know exactly what has happened to him. _Valjean’s hand inside his trousers, Valjean’s cock in his body, Valjean’s mouth on his cock, Valjean’s mouth on his._ Somehow it is the last of these that is the worst sin of all.  
  
Javert  flushes, trying to steady himself. They don’t know. They can’t. Even the other convicts don’t know for certain. Only Valjean. And Javert now knows that Valjean would never tell another soul of what passed between them last night. He will keep the memory of Javert close to his skin, something precious in the dark. Valjean will keep his sins safe.  
  
He doesn’t recognize any of the men who stand guard at the prison walls. They’ve brought in other policemen to guard the outskirts of the prison so that the convicts don’t push further, seeking to escape. It’s almost a relief, not to face any of the men he’s worked with.  
  
The cart of bread is pushed forward. “There.” One of the policemen spits at Valjean’s feet. “Take it and go.”  
  
Valjean stands his ground. “This is less than was agreed.”  
  
The policeman steps forward. “You will take it and be grateful, slave.” His hand rests upon his cudgel, ready to attack.  
  
“What about the water?” Somehow Valjean manages to sound civil in the face of such disdain.  
  
Two buckets are brought forward and set down.  
  
“This isn't enough.” Valjean’s jaw tightens. “Where is Prefect Charmain?”  
  
“He has better things to do than deal with common filth like you.” This time the spit lands upon Valjean’s cheek. He wipes it away as though it’s nothing.  
  
"He agreed to the terms."  
  
The policeman's cudgel is whipped out, landing across Valjean's cheek. "You have no rights here, slave!"  
  
“You will treat this man with some respect!”  
  
To everyone’s surprise, the words come from Javert’s lips. Even Valjean is surprised at this outburst. He watches Javert with curious eyes, his face aching from the blow.  
  
“And who are you?” The policeman sneers.  
  
“Javert, a guard of Toulon.” Javert steps forward. “These prisoners are trying to deal reasonably with you and you treat them abominably. How do you expect to regain control of the prison if you act in such a fashion?” His eyes narrow as he leans in. “Return to the prefect and tell him next time they will need to speak with someone with more authority.”  
  
For a moment the policeman cowers, and then he pulls himself together. “We will see what the prefect has to say about that.”  
  
“Indeed.” Javert stares him down until the man finally retreats, taking the rest of the policeman with him.  
  
Abruptly, he remembers he’s no longer in a position of authority here and turns to Valjean. “I,” he has no excuse for what came over him.  
  
Valjean, however, is laughing, half bent over from the humor of it. “The look on his face.” His own face is creased in amused lines, and Javert finds himself half smiling in return before he forces himself to stop.  
  
“Come.” Valjean reaches for the handle of the cart. “Bring the water.”  
  
Javert obeys, taking care not to spill a drop.

*  *  *  
  
The other prisoners are not happy with what Valjean has brought back.  
  
“You give away one of our hostages and this is what they give us in return?” Bellamy growls.  
  
“The man was injured.” Valjean reminds him. “It was the only thing to do.”  
  
“We should have slit his throat.” Allard shouts at him. He darts a glance at Javert. “Perhaps we should take your whore in his stead.”  He takes a step forward.  
  
“Lay a hand on him and you will regret it.” Valjean’s voice is as soft as a summer storm.  
  
Not a single man touches Javert as they return to their cell.

*  *  *  
  
Valjean paces the length of the cell furiously. “They refuse to hear our demands reasonably.”  
  
“They don’t have to listen to the words of slaves.” Javert leans against the stone wall. His back yet aches from too much sitting, his body from... How much longer can this go on? The authorities can’t give in to the convicts, and the convicts can’t hold out forever. Even this load of bread will not last as long. There’s a starving look in the convicts’ eyes that grows more fierce and gaunt every day.  
  
“We are _men_.” Valjean roars, spit falling from his mouth. “Christ in heaven, they cannot make us live this like forever.” He rests one hand against the wall, bowing his head.  
  
“They’ll never give you what you want.” Javert means for the words to be harsh and unyielding, but they come out quiet and terrible.  
  
Valjean looks at him. “I know.”  
  
Silence settles over the cell again, but for the first time it is strangely companionable.

*  *  *

Javert gazes at Valjean’s cheek, the bruise already forming dark and painful across the bone. “Does it pain you?”  
  
Valjean touches the skin, and winces. “I’ve known worse.”  
  
“How did you hold your temper?”  
  
Valjean shrugs. “I’m used to it.” He glances at Javert, “Why did you speak out as you did?” It's a memory he will treasure, even if Javert regrets it now.  
  
“All men deserve respect regardless of their station in life.” Javert states simply. "Even criminals. It doesn't change the fact that they're criminals, or absolve them of their crimes, but," he stops seeing Valjean’s mouth as it curves upward.  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
The man is teasing him, but Javert won’t back down.  
  
“Yes.” Javert hesitates. “Just before the riot started, you’d just been released from the hole.”  
  
“Yes.” Valjean doesn’t wish to speak of that. Even now the darkness clings to him. He’d prefer the whip or the rack any day to the hours spent imprisoned in the stifling darkness.  
  
“Because of me.”  
  
“Your point?” Valjean inquires archly. Javert’s acting as though Valjean had somehow forgotten he’s a guard. He hasn't forgotten this, not even for a second.  
  
“Yet you stopped Pinard from killing me,” Javert continues. “Before that you halted the hand of that guard in the riot when he would have struck me down.”  
  
“I remember it well enough,” Valjean murmurs.  
  
“All this because you desired me.” The thought is still perplexing, still bewildering, and yet Javert knows it to be true.  
  
“I have told you this already,” Valjean can't hide his irritation. Will Javert continue to torture him with the knowledge now that Valjean can no longer touch him? He’d not thought him that cruel.  
  
Javert considers this carefully. “When you spent time in the hole, it was because they found a knife in your bunk. I thought you were planning on running again. Now I know it was for the riot.”  
  
“It is done.” Valjean will hear no more of this.  
  
“Would you have used the knife if you had it?”  
  
“I had no wish to become a murderer.” Valjean’s voice is perilously close to anguished. “But I would have carried it in the riot if I had had it.” Even now the pistol lies in the cell window. If Javert could get past him, if he could reach it…he doesn’t move towards the pistol.  
  
“It seems to me,” Javert says at last, “that I owe you my life several times over.” The tie between them tightens however he examines it. There is no escaping this man no matter how hard he tries. If this is how his mother went, then let her son follow in her path.  
  
“You owe me nothing.” Valjean tells him. The debt between them has been paid in full. The memory of gazing down at Javert underneath him is sweetly bitter.  
  
“Yet you still desire me.” Javert must be sure, though he’s uncertain of what exactly he wants Valjean to say. Simply that the lust he feels, sharp raw lust that makes Javert’s knees weak and his belly soft with the desire of it, lust that makes his mouth water, Valjean shares. But underneath that, there’s something more as well, pulling him deeper into the mire threatening his foothold.  
  
Valjean sucks in a breath. “Now it is you who persist in tormenting me.” He clasps his hands together, gazing away from Javert.  
  
Valjean is only a man, not a devil. If Javert takes the next step here, it will be of his own accord. The bridge is here before him and he crosses it, willingly this time, his feet stepping firmly on the other side.  
  
“If you will not accept this as a debt, then I will have to call it something else.” His heart is pounding in his chest.  
  
Valjean stares at him uncomprehendingly.  
  
Javert takes a deep breath. “It was not only one time, Valjean.” There. He waits.  
  
It takes Valjean a moment. Javert watches as understanding slowly awakens in his limbs. Valjean tenses, a lion ready to strike, and Javert has placed himself in the path of the hunter.  
  
“You mean to say,” Valjean starts. He rises to one knee, still staring at Javert. “You…”  
  
“Yes.” Javert has a few blushes left. But it’s true, he has thought of Valjean many times. The guilt is ever present; the disgust always clinging to his hand afterward, but he has thought of him nonetheless.  
  
Valjean waits. “Then come.”  
  
Javert stands, crossing the cell freely this time.  
  
Valjean rises to his feet, gazing at him in wonderment. “If I touched you now, you would not pull away?” He doesn't quite believe it.  
  
“No.” Javert tells him.  
  
“Why?” Valjean needs to know.  
  
Javert’s brow furrows. “I am giving you what you desire. Why are you questioning it?” He can’t explain the passion rising within him. None of this will last, the riot will end, and this will all be over. But now they are here, and Valjean’s lips draw him closer.  
  
“Is it purely _my_ desire?” Valjean demands, his voice harsh. “Is that what this is? You seek to appease me, gentling your captor?”  
  
Javert wets his lips. “The thought had crossed my mind.” He admits and Valjean’s hand clenches into a fist. “But it would be a lie if I said I held no desire here.”  
  
Valjean’s hand does rise then, his palm cupping Javert’s cheek, rough and warm like the sun. Javert turns his face upward as though waiting for something.  
  
This time with this kiss, there is no hesitation between them. Javert’s mouth is his to claim, open to his yearning.

“What do you want?” Valjean whispers. He can’t stop kissing Javert – his lips, his neck, he pulls the collar of his shirt open so he can mouth along Javert’s collarbone. The thought of Javert thinking of _him_ spurs his arousal on. His hands slide down to clasp Javert’s backside, bringing him flush against himself. “Tell me what you desired.”  
  
Javert swallows. He can feel Valjean’s cock pressing against him through their clothes.  
  
“You. Taking me.” As much as he wants this, the words still feel wrong upon his tongue. Speaking his desires aloud causes the guilt to rise in his groin as much as the heat.  
  
“How?” Valjean presses, his fingers squeeze Javert’s flesh. It’s not enough, he needs to touch skin. Valjean pulls back, and starts reaching for his own clothes.  
  
Javert hesitates and then starts undressing as well. His cock rests hard against his belly. Valjean grasps him in the same fashion once they’re both naked, but now his fingers slide over bare skin, making Javert’s body respond in the most delightful way.  
  
“Tell me,” Valjean kisses his open mouth. He wants to know everything.  
  
The kiss does things to Javert’s senses, giving him heady thoughts. Valjean’s tongue makes him grow bolder. He pulls back, gazing up at Valjean.  
  
“On my hands and knees.” He measures his courage, forcing the words out. “So that I may feel your strength pressed against me, I,” he has to look away, it’s too hard. But Valjean merely leans down to kiss him again.  
  
“I will have you any way that you desire.” His fingers slide down the cleft of Javert’s ass, making him squirm as Valjean grips him there. “Come.”  
  
The blanket is still there on the floor where they left it. Javert kneels upon it, hard with anticipation.  
  
Valjean spits upon his palm. He wishes he had something better to use, but Javert is still willing, so he spreads his spit over his cock as best as he can, inching into him slowly.  
  
It hurts a little at first, but Javert’s ready for it this time, and it lessens as Valjean eases deeper inside him. One hand strokes down his back and Javert leans back against it, pressing Valjean’s cock more firmly inside him.  
  
Valjean snaps his hips roughly, his hand slipping around to clasp Javert’s throat as he thrusts into him. He speed grows, his cock thrusting in and out Javert’s ass.  
  
His hand on Javert’s throat is doing things to Javert. Javert arches his head back as Valjean’s fingers tighten there. Javert’s breath grows short, and his cock thrusts upward in vain. He’s so hard, his body aches with it, but he wants it to last, wants Valjean here slick with sweat against his back forever.  
  
“Do you trust me?” Valjean asks before he can stop himself. Of all the foolish questions.  
  
But Javert turns his head to look at him over his shoulder, and nods.    
  
For a moment Valjean can’t move, he’s so astounded.  Then he reaches for the slip of rope he hasn’t used of late. “This will make it sweeter.”  
  
Valjean slips the rope around Javert's neck. He tightens it then pulls it up, settling it in place. Javert rests on his hands and his knees, waiting. Valjean strokes down his flank and Javert leans into it, as the rope’s pulled tight. His cock swells, and Javert drops his head between his shoulders, shoulders shuddering.  
  
Valjean reaches around to tug at his cock and Javert groans. Any of the other convicts could walk past the cell and see them in this act. The shame heats his face, but it doesn’t keep him from groaning again. The rope around his throat grows even tighter and his breath comes in short, desperate pants. Pleasure sends him spiraling upward, dizzy with ripe desire.  
  
Javert comes all too quickly, Valjean drawing his pleasure out of him, one long stroke after another, the rope taut around his neck. Valjean’s hand tightens on his sensitive cock and Javert clenches around him, causing Valjean to cry aloud as he joins him.  
  
When he can breathe again, Valjean pulls out of him, and they collapse on the blanket.

*  *  *  
  
Javert can feel the sweat cooling on his body, he’s half lying in his own spend, and he doesn’t care. Valjean’s hand rests on his flank, and he wants more. There is only so much time, and Javert’s grown greedy with his lust.  
  
He rolls over, and settles cautiously between Valjean’s legs.  
  
Valjean eyes him. “What’re you doing?”  
  
Javert’s hand slides up his thigh as he considers the man’s cock. The last time he performed this act, it had been for survival. He remembers the breeze on his face, the look in Valjean’s eye as he challenged Javert.  
  
Javert gazes at him steadily as he takes Valjean in his mouth.  
  
Valjean sucks in a heavy breath. Javert’s eyes will be the death of him. He can barely breathe as Javert sucks at him. The angle is awkward; it’s too soon. His cock is not yet recovered, but it’s pleasurable in Javert’s mouth and Valjean’s hips strain towards that warmth.  
  
He reaches for Javert by the shoulders, pulling him up.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Enough.” Valjean cups the back of his neck, pulling him down to his mouth for a kiss. “Enough. I need time to recover. Let me kiss you.”  
  
Javert rests against his chest, gazing down upon him. “Was it that inadequate?”  
  
Valjean laughs. “Hardly.” He will not tell Javert how sweet it is to have his mouth around him, nor how it feels to know Javert did that of his own accord. Instead he merely kisses Javert until Valjean can feel him quickening against his thigh.  
  
Valjean eases Javert up on all fours again, his ass upright. “Here.”  
  
He runs his hands over Javert’s cheeks, parting them affectionately. Valjean hesitates only a moment before lowering his mouth.  
  
Javert rocks forward on his knees expectantly but then instead of Valjean's cock, something lighter brushes across his hole.  It’s his turn to ask, "What're you doing?"  
  
"Hold still."  
  
Valjean pushes his tongue further inside him and Javert makes a strangled sound. Wet light heat streaks through him. His cock, already eager enough strains upward between his thighs.  
  
Javert gasps and pants, his cock thickening impossibly again. Valjean’s tongue slips further into him, moving in insistent tight motions. It’s obscene, and Javert wants it badly, pushing his backside back against Valjean’s tongue.  
  
Javert has never known anything like this. It shouldn’t feel this good to have another man’s tongue _there_ of all places, he shouldn’t want this, but all he wants is to stay here on his hands and knees, Valjean’s tongue caressing him like this forever.  
  
Valjean’s tongue touches something deep within him, pleasure rolling over his body in endless waves. Javert collapses on his knees, moaning helplessly.  
  
Valjean merely wraps an arm around Javert, as they lay there, drowsy and sated in the heat of the afternoon.  
  
*  *  *

When Javert wakes it’s already early evening. He can smell the scent of approaching rain in the air, and the salt coolness rolling in from the sea. His skin’s chilled, and he longs to pull on his clothes, but he doesn’t want to leave the warmth that is Valjean’s body next to his. Valjean’s slumber is peaceful, his arm draped around Javert’s waist.  
  
It frightens him how much he wants to stay there, so Javert slips free and sits up.  
  
This time the ache in his body is more comfortable, simply reminding him of pleasurable things.  
  
 _Pleasurable things_. Somehow Javert presses his lips together, keeping the mirth at bay. A mere few weeks ago, he would not have called what he and Valjean did last night pleasurable.  
  
Now it’s all his mind desires to think about.  
  
His eyes turn towards the window and the pistol lying there. Logically, he could use it to try to escape. Logic also tells him that at least one of the convicts would probably get to him before he makes it beyond the courtyard. If that happened, he would be far worse off than he is now.  
  
But what does it mean that he’s not leaping for the pistol now while Valjean sleeps? He should be trying to escape, not sitting here, placidly thinking about rutting with a convict.  
  
The siege _can’t_ continue much longer. There’s a half chance it will end without more bloodshed, but Javert’s not counting on it. Between the convicts’ desire to be free, and the police’s need to regain control of the prison, there’s no doubt in his mind there will be blood.  
  
Why add to that?  
  
But is he a coward for not making his move?  
  
With a silent moan, Javert rests his hands against his eyes. Supposing he were to wake in his own bed and this were all a dream. He would wash and dress like any other day. He would go to work and when 24601 passed him in the line…  
  
Javert swallows, grinding the heels of his palms to his eyes. Therein lies the difficulty. It’s not merely 24601 now. It’s Valjean, Valjean lying beside him. Valjean’s whose tongue Javert will never be able to look at without thinking of…  
  
The man in question stirs and turns over to gaze up at him. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing.” Javert mutters, keeping his head turned away from him. “Save that I’m a coward.” The words are bitter to speak.  
   
Valjean’s hand rests on his thigh. “What's this nonsense?”  
  
“A coward, one well corrupted.” Javert pulls away from his hand. “Were I not, I would have that pistol pressed to your temple this very minute.”  
  
Valjean sits up. In the dusk of early evening, the shadows fall across his body in an ominous fashion. “Why don’t you try it?”  
  
“I know your strength well enough now,” Javert says curtly. _Within me as well as without_. “Your years here have made you monstrously strong.”  
  
Valjean stands silently, gazing down at him. “Stand up.”  
  
Everything in Javert wills him to move, to obey that stark command. Instead he stays put, gazing straight ahead. It’s not his fault Valjean’s thighs are in his view.  
  
“ _Get up_.” Valjean’s voice coils into something lethal.  
  
Javert doesn’t move.  
  
Valjean reaches down and pulls him up by the scruff of the neck. Javert grabs at his arm, but Valjean seizes his arm and twists it behind his back. He pulls Javert’s head back, his eyes boring into him. Javert’s breath is coming in rapid pants. Valjean’s fingers press into the flesh of his neck, and his arm is gripped just tight enough to hurt.  
  
“You’re not a coward.” Valjean murmurs. “If you had tried to take the pistol, you’d have been dead before you reached the prison gate.” His grip tightens, and he watches the way Javert’s eyes try to focus. “I’ll tie you up again if I have to.”  
  
He releases Javert’s arm. “Shall I?”  
  
His hand is still wrapped around Javert’s neck. Javert straightens his arm out, wincing. He stares up at Valjean sullenly.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Good.” Valjean’s thumb rubs along his scalp, and then he drops his hand.  
  
He takes his time getting dressed; Javert is done long before him.  
  
Valjean takes the pistol and sticks it in his belt. “I’ll be back.”  
  
This time he locks the cell.

*  *  *  
  
Javert paces. He can’t interpret the look in Valjean’s eyes before he left, nor that lingering touch on his neck. If Valjean had struck him that would be easier to deal with.

*  *  *  
  
Eventually Valjean returns. He hands Javert a piece of bread without a word and locks the cell again.  
  
“Eat.” Valjean nods at him.  
  
Javert hesitates. “Where’s yours?”  
  
Valjean ignores him. He puts the pistol back in the window cell. Javert tears the bread in half and holds it out. Valjean just eyes it.  
  
Javert’s temper is ragged. “Take it.” The man is a fool. He’s always been a fool.  
  
At last Valjean takes half. He eats quickly before scooping up the blanket. He shakes the straw from it and lays it out against the wall opposite the window. He sits there, waiting.  
  
Javert doesn’t move. He swallows the last bite of bread and thinks that as long as he lives, that dry taste will forever remind him of this time here and now.    
  
“It’s a little warmer here.” Valjean murmurs.  
  
Javert hesitates. He should stay away from Valjean. This will only make the end harder. But the wind rises as the rain beats against the prison roof, filling the cell with the clean cool scent of the sea so he goes to sit beside Valjean. The thunder rumbles above the prison. Javert draws his knees up, leaning against the wall, listening to the rain.  
  
After a brief span Valjean stretches out along the blanket on his side. The night grows darker and finally, Javert lies down beside him. After a while Valjean’s arm steals over his hip.  
  
Javert watches the faint patch of sky through the window and sleeps at last.

*  *  *

In the morning there’s a commotion at the gate. In exchange for another of the remaining guards, the police hand over another cartload of bread, as well as a freshly slaughtered pig and wine. _Wine, of all things_. Valjean eyes the bounty dubiously as it’s brought through the gate. This won’t go well.  
  
He left Javert sleeping peacefully in the cell. Valjean checks automatically to make sure the key is still in his thin pocket. If Javert wakes before he returns, he won’t be happy.  
  
Valjean will deal with that when the time comes. For now he has to deal with this situation.  
  
Mercier is ordering the construction of a spit for the pig in the middle of the courtyard. “Valjean!” He greets him. “You will be here for the feast tonight, won’t you?”  
  
“The wine is a gambit.” Valjean tells him. "Can’t you see what they intend?" It’s obvious that police hope the convicts will get drunk and become careless, leaving the way open for them to regain the prison.  
  
"Quit your worries and go fuck your whore," one of the men calls out.  
  
“Better still, bring him out!”  
  
Valjean half turns, but Mercier claps a firm hand on Valjean's shoulder, keeping him there. "They deserve a little merriment, Valjean. We will post guards. Tonight will be favorable for all.” He squeezes Valjean’s shoulder. “Don’t worry so.”  
  
Valjean just shakes his head and goes back inside. The sun is warm; he’d like to stay out in the air longer. But Javert is in there, and it’s safer in the cell for him. Valjean is not naïve. The convicts are now down to two guards. Sooner or later they will try to make more demands of Javert’s presence among them.  
  
* * *  
  
Javert is leaning against the bars when he comes down the hallway. He stands back, watching silently as Valjean unlocks the cell and enters it.  
  
“What’s happening?”  
  
“They traded another guard, but this time they received meat and wine as well as bread.”  
  
“Wine?” Javert frowns. “That's,”  
  
“It’s a trap.” Valjean rubs at his temples tiredly. “It’s a trap, and they refuse to see it.”  
  
“Perhaps this is how it’s meant to end.” Javert murmurs. He rubs his hand across his mouth, thinking of how it will go.  
  
Valjean remains silent, thinking of it as well.  
  
“You could at least have brought back a bottle of wine.” Javert adds innocently, glancing sideways at him.  
  
Valjean chortles. “You’d like that, would you?”  
  
Javert shrugs his shoulders. “It passes the time.” Truth be told, he’s never been one for drinking, but his belly’s near empty and the thought is not unpleasant.  
  
Valjean gazes at him steadily. “I can think of other ways to pass the time.”  
  
“Oh?” Javert strives to meet his casual tone. “Please tell, what might those be?”  
  
He’s stretched out flat on his back before he can speak another word, Valjean’s hands trailing over his body, one in his hair, one groping sensuously at his ass. Javert wraps a leg around Valjean’s and they tumble across the floor, limbs entwined.  
  
* * *  
  
The convicts build a bonfire in the courtyard as the evening draws on, using wooden boxes from the rubbish heap and the chairs and desk from the warden’s office. They roast the pig over the nearby spit. The wind carries the scent of roasting meat through the open prison doors down the hallway to the cells.  
  
"They're fools." Valjean leans in the doorway of the cell, watching the convicts cavort around the fire.  
  
"You're not thinking of going out there?" Javert speaks up.  
  
"Someone should...but I fear they will no longer heed my words."  
  
His name is called out though and Valjean steps forward reluctantly. "Stay here."  
  
"You certainly give commands freely enough." Javert comments.  
  
Valjean glances back at him. "And you will obey. Just this once." Javert looks doubtful, and Valjean adds, “Please.” He follows Bellamy who called for him, out into the blazing firelight.  
  
"Come Valjean, you must drink with us." A bottle is pressed into his hand. The convicts clap him on the back welcomingly.  He is one of them after all. They are his companions, his brethren.  
  
Valjean raises the bottle to his lips, saluting them.  
  
"You spend too much time with that guard." Allard speaks up.  
  
"As would you if you had use of his mouth and ass!" Another convict laughs. They all join in. It will do no good to attack the man, so Valjean stays quiet. The other two guards are being passed around the fire. Valjean averts his eyes.  
  
"Tell us, Valjean,” Geroux leans in. “How is he? Tight, I bet? And sweet as,"  
  
"Enough." Valjean holds out the bottle. "I will drink no more with you."  
  
Mercier steps forward. “Stay.” He pushes the bottle back toward Valjean.  
  
 “Where’s your pet?” Bellamy leers at Valjean. “Bring him out.”  
  
“No,” Valjean snarls back. He tenses, readying himself for a fight, fist clenched around the bottle.  
  
Mercier tilts his head, considering, and Valjean knows then that what he feared is now upon them.  
   
“Mercier.”  
  
“Valjean,” Mercier chides him. “Nothing like before.  Just…some entertainment.” He nods to two of the convicts. “Fetch him.”  
  
Valjean glares at him. “You can’t use him,”  
  
Mercier leans in. “You can let this happen, or I can have you locked up in your cell and Javert will be fucked like a common slut until he’s begging for us to end his life,”  
  
 Valjean’s throat tightens. “If you do this, I swear by all that’s holy, I will tear you apart.”  
  
Mercier just shakes his head. “I told you, all I want is some entertainment. Your whore is a strong enough young man. I merely desire to see how he fares against one of our own.”  
  
Some of the tension releases from Valjean’s shoulders. “A fight? You want a fight?”  
  
“You have to admit, it would be entertaining.” Mercier nods behind him, and Valjean turns to see Javert pushed forward into the circle.  
  
The convicts holding him shove him closer to the fire and Javert struggles, fighting the hands forcing him closer to the flames.  
  
“Well, Valjean?” Mercier waits.  
  
He can’t fight them all. Valjean knows this. Silently, he nods. The convicts widen out the circle, leaving the fire behind them. Javert stands in the center, eying the lot of them warily. He glances at Valjean who tries to reassure him with his eyes.  
  
"Let's see him fight. Who will fight the little whore!"  
  
 _A fight. Is that all?_ Javert keeps his head up. He can do that. He can fight without his cudgel. They don't know where he comes from, that he has grown up in a prison such as this. All his life he has watched men fight and rage and tear.  
  
The murderer, Pinard, steps into the circle, grinning coarsely at him.  
  
Javert faces his opponent coolly. They circle, surrounded by the ring of convicts. Javert holds his ground as Pinard moves in menacingly. The man is bulkier yes, stronger yes, but Javert is younger and strong as well. Plus he has a vital advantage here. His opponent underestimates him.  
  
Pinard swings and Javert ducks under his arm, landing a blow on the man's torso. Pinard grunts in surprise turning to face him. He attacks again and again Javert dodges out of the way.  
  
The convicts grow uneasy; they expected to see the guard put in his place, not toying with their champion. Pinard roars, rushing forward, and Javert bobs nimbly out of the way yet again.  
  
Pinard gets a hit in, knocking Javert’s head back, and another one across his ribs. His fist smashes into Javert’s mouth, and Javert reels, but manages to catch his balance. He dodges around Pinard before the convict knows what he’s doing.  
  
The next time Javert lands a series of blows across the man’s back. Pinard roars even louder, turning sharply. Javert sticks his foot out and Pinard trips, hitting the cobblestones with a cry. Pinard grabs at him furiously, catching Javert’s ankle and they roll savagely across the courtyard, struggling for control. Javert jabs his elbow hard into the man’s gut, and then again into his throat until Pinard’s breath is drawn in short, painful wheezes, his arms flailing outward.  
  
Javert pushes himself up to his knees. He eyes the man a moment longer, and then knocks him out with a quick blow to the head.  
  
The ring of convicts watch Javert as he rises slowly. He looks at Valjean, who’s watching Mercier. Finally, Mercier nods, and relief falls over Valjean’s face. He steps forward, gazing at Javert.  
  
Javert's face is bruised and bloody, but he's still standing. Valjean stares at him, proud and incredulous. He pulls him away from the convicts, away from the firelight. Let them try to keep him from Javert now.

*  *  *  
  
"Your eye." He touches the cut on Javert’s cheek gently. Javert winces.  
  
There's blood on his lip and Valjean swipes at it with his thumb, only to catch his breath as Javert's teeth catch at his thumb, sucking it into his mouth. He has lost all discretion. The fire roars in his blood and on his skin, his cock swelling heatedly in his trousers. Valjean's eyes darken with desire as Javert nips at his thumb.  
  
Valjean looks around, and pulls Javert further away from the fire, off to a crevice in the wall.  
  
Valjean pushes him up against the wall. Javert smells of smoke and dirt, drying blood and fresh sweat. Valjean’s fingers tighten in his shirt and they stare at each other in the shadowy light. He means to speak, but instead, his mouth descends upon Javert’s. Javert’s lips are so soft; they shouldn’t be allowed to be so soft. Valjean kisses like a drowning man and Javert is the lifeboat he’s clinging to helplessly.  
  
He drops his mouth to suck hungrily at Javert's throat. His teeth graze along the tender flesh and Javert's body arches against his. The roar of the bonfire grows louder as they fumble with their clothing. Valjean slips two fingers into Javert's mouth, aching as Javert sucks them wetly.  
  
Javert’s head swims. The scent of fire is in his nostrils and arousal claws at him, digging in deep. His cock strains between them and then Valjean’s got him in his palm. Javert whimpers. Valjean’s mouth devours him; he can’t contain his thoughts as Valjean's hand strokes him.  
  
Valjean has his trousers down, rutting against Javert’s backside like an animal in heat. Javert should push him away. He should resist.  
  
He’s past the point of resistance.  
  
Instead, Javert spreads his legs, pressing his palms flat against the wall. Valjean’s cock slides between his cheeks and he shudders. Valjean bites at the back of his neck and Javert fears he will spend then and there.  
  
Finally, when he thinks he can bear it no longer, Valjean pulls him around; pushing Javert’s back flat against the wall. “I want to see you.” His voice coarsens with arousal.  
  
When Valjean eases his fingers into him, Javert’s balls tightens with lust, his cock swaying upright against Valjean's belly. Valjean's cock pushes into him eagerly and Javert spreads his legs as Valjean's tongue licks across the sweat at his brow. Javert grips the wall above his head and arches his back, meeting Valjean’s thrusts with his own force. Valjean groans as Javert half-raises himself, settling his body more firmly upon Valjean's cock.  
  
The stars gaze silently down upon the two men moving together as one in the darkness, their cries muffled by the meeting of their lips.

*  *  *

Valjean wakes to the sound of pistol fire. Forboding tightens in his gut and he sits up, reaching for his shirt.  
  
Javert stirs sleepily. “What is it?”  
  
Valjean doesn’t respond, pulling his shirt over his head.  There’s a shout in the corridor and the sharp smell of gunpowder in the air.  
  
Javert pushes himself up. “What’s happening?” There’s another shout from the corridor and he tenses, turning towards the sound.  
  
Valjean ignores him, rising to go to the cell door. Something catches his eye out in the corridor and he frowns. He fetches the pistol from the window, checking it automatically.  
  
“Stay here.” He’s already turning back towards the door when Javert plants himself in front of him.  
  
“You can't order me in this,” he makes a grab for the gun from Valjean’s grasp. “You’re not going out there.”  
  
Valjean simply knocks him aside, grasping the pistol more tightly.  
  
The casual use of his force is more surprising than the blow itself and Javert stumbles backward. He regains his feet and lunges forward, but Valjean’s already out of the cell, pulling the door shut behind him, locking it tight.  
  
Javert grabs at him, catching his arm through the bars. “Valjean, Valjean unlock this door, now!”  
  
He can hear the cries in the courtyard, the sound of boots running across the cobblestones. Something is happening out there. He should be out there, but more importantly he can’t let Valjean go out there alone.  
  
Valjean pulls himself free of Javert’s grip. “You’ll be safe in here.” He turns to head down the corridor.  
  
“Valjean! _Valjean!_ ” Javert shouts until his tongue is hoarse, but Valjean doesn’t return.  
  
* * *  
  
The courtyard is a brutal bloodbath. Valjean takes a cautious step forward, and is instantly swept up in the violence. Half the convicts are still drunk, fighting wildly as the police bear down upon them. The other half sobered up quickly enough, but their cause is already lost and they know it.  
  
Valjean half turns back towards the prison, but there’s too many men between him and there. A policeman raises his cudgel and Valjean blocks it automatically with the butt of his pistol, bowling the man over. This is where it started. He snatches up the cudgel and lays about him with the fierce desperation of one who knows the end is near.  
  
* * *  
  
Javert paces back and forth agitatedly in the cell until his limbs grow unsteady and he drops to his knees. He has never prayed in his life; he can't simply start now. But if he were to start praying, he’s uncertain as to what he would even ask for.  
  
 _Let him be all right._  
  
That’s the closest thing to a prayer that he can allow to pass his lips.  
  
He kneels there in the cell they have shared and waits.  
  
* * *  
  
By the time a policeman comes down the hallway, glancing into the cells he passes, dull, weary acceptance has settled into Javert’s bones.  
  
“Who’re you?” The policeman eyes him through the bars.  
  
Javert pushes himself up. “Javert. A guard of Toulon.”  
  
The man considers this, and then unlocks the door. “I’ve heard of you.”  
  
Javert tries not to think of what that could mean. Still the man doesn’t seem to mean anything by that. He finishes checking the cells and then leads Javert back out to the courtyard.  
  
“There were two other guards held prisoner,” Javert murmurs. For an instant he can’t remember their names, just the sight of their fearful faces as the convicts gazed upon them.  
  
“We’ve recovered their bodies.” The policeman tells him. “You’re the only survivor.”  
  
Javert flinches as he steps out into the sunlight.  
  
* * *  
  
The convicts are pressed up against the long wall of the prison. Each of them is forced to their knees as their chains are restored. They are a beaten, pathetic lot with no fight left in them. The line of dead convicts stretched out upon the cobblestones has crushed their revolt.  
  
Javert’s led to the prefect who shakes his hand and tells him how relieved he is to have even one survivor.  
  
“We are hanging the ringleaders of course.” The prefect nods at Mercier, held to one side, chains already weighing his limbs down. “We can’t hang them all of course, but hanging even a few will discourage this sort of behavior in the future. Are there any still among the men you can identify for us?”  
  
Javert brushes at the dried blood on his cheek absently, gazing across the courtyard at Valjean, standing there once more in chains. With just a few words, he could have the man stripped and flogged and hung. Valjean would die screaming, and Javert could reclaim his dignity.  
  
It would be an easy solution. All he has to do is point to Valjean, and he will hang. No one would ever know what passed between them.  
  
The worst of it is there’s no expectation of mercy in Valjean’s stance. He stands there, head bowed, waiting for Javert to speak and cast his fate upon the block.  
  
“All the ringleaders are dead.” Javert says, letting his words carry. “These men are just the unfortunates who got swept up in their furor.” He’s gratified to see Valjean stiffen, raising his eyes slightly in confusion.  
  
“They’ll be punished nonetheless.” The captain nods at the guards, who start moving the petty remnants of the riot along. “Every last one of them flogged.”  
  
 _Yes_ , Javert thinks, _they’ll be punished, but they’ll live_. He wonders if Valjean will hate him for that. It’s not much of a kindness, but it’s all Javert has to offer.  
  
* * *  
  
For the first time in, he’s lost count of the days, Javert returns home. The stale feeling to the air makes him nauseous and he throws his window open, letting it air out.  
  
He bathes at long last, scrubbing the stink of the prison from him. The scent of Valjean slips away as well from his skin in the soapy water, and Javert pretends he doesn’t mind.  
  
He doesn’t return to the prison for a week. The authorities insist on that as they decide what to do with him. In the end, Javert isn’t surprised at their final decision.  
  
* * *  
  
It's early evening when he enters the cell where Valjean is being kept. The convict is stretched out upon the whipping cross, his back freshly bloodied. His head hangs low, sweat dripping off him.  
  
Javert gazes at him for a long moment before he speaks. “I’ve told them you had nothing to do with leading the riot. Keep your mouth shut and you will survive this.”  
  
Valjean turns his head slowly to face him. “Why would you do that?” His voice is a rasp; the pain in it tears at Javert’s chest.  
  
He swallows thickly, unable to speak. Is the man completely stupid?  
  
“I couldn’t let them hang you.” Javert whispers. “They’re transferring me elsewhere.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling Valjean this, only that he knows this is the last time he will see Valjean, and as wretched as that is, he wants to gaze upon him fully with that knowledge.  
  
He drinks in the sight of Valjean, his lips cracked, the bloody welts of his back. The taut, exhausted muscles, and the sunken hopeless look in his eyes as he gazes back at Javert.  
  
Valjean accepts this. “I hope you do well with the transfer.”  
  
Javert takes a step forward. “Valjean.” There’s so much he wants to say, and so little can he put into words.  
  
His hand dares to touch the side of Valjean’s head for only a moment, and then he’s gone.  
  
Valjean’s head sinks down between his chained arms. He listens to the sound of the footsteps in the hall long after they’ve faded away.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

Javert holds his hat in his hands as he waits to meet the mayor.

Many years have passed since Javert left Toulon to transfer to another prison. Many years, and still during the course of them, he occasionally wondered what had become of Jean Valjean.

He knows the convict was paroled. Knows too that Valjean broke his parole and disappeared. Once Javert would have been appalled by such behavior, appalled and yet he would have understood.

Now though, in more recent years, he hasn't given much thought to it. At last he been promoted, transferring to the police force, away from the stench of the prisons. The fate of Valjean has little to do with him.

Or so he thought before he entered the mayor’s office.

The man enters the room and Javert bows automatically. He bows low, his gaze traveling up from the mayor’s boots to his thighs to his waistcoat to his cravat, and then, as Javert straightens up his breath catches in his throat. A great stillness comes over his frame. For the man standing there, facing him as just rigidly as Javert stands, is none other than Jean Valjean.

It has been a lifetime since Javert last saw the man, yet he knows in his soul that this is Valjean.

Is this where Valjean has been hiding all along? In plain sight?

Javert has thought of this moment many times in the past, but never has he envisioned it like this. Not once has he pictured Valjean in a position as dignified as this. In his dreams Valjean is always filthy and desperate, crawling through Javert's bedroom window in the middle of the night to seek sanctuary. Sometimes Javert lets him go and sometimes he holds Valjean prisoner in his bedroom, lashed to the bed like a wild thing, and sometimes he sends him back to prison in chains. But regardless there was always first the rough embraces and terrible passion between them Javert decided what to do with him. A decision that Javert could never decide upon and hold himself to in the light of day.

Looking at Valjean as he stands before him now Javert finds it nearly impossible to believe this is the same man, and yet it is. He'd know those eyes anywhere.

Madeleine, as he calls himself now, rests his hand on his desk as though steadying himself. “It is a pleasure to have such a man as you in our town, inspector.”

That voice. Javert finds his own tongue at least. “It is good of you to say so, Monsieur le maire.”

Valjean doesn’t blink. He has played this farce long enough that he’s good at it. The title is natural to him now, and Javert marvels at that.

Valjean nods. “We have some crime in Montreuil-sur-Mer, not as much as Paris perhaps, but some nonetheless.” He sighs. “The people here, they are merely struggling to survive. With the town council, I’ve been working to,”

Javert wants to laugh as Valjean continues telling him about the town. No, he wants to seize the man and press him up against the wall. _Do you think I don’t know you?_ He would ask. _Do you think I ever could have forgotten?_

“Inspector?” Valjean is gazing at him speculatively. Could he have truly become Madeleine over the years? No, it’s impossible, Javert decides. This is Valjean. Selfishly, he _wants_ the man here to be Valjean for it is Valjean that had held him in his arms all those years ago.

“Pardon.” Javert murmurs. “It’s merely that you remind me of someone I knew, a long time ago.”

For a moment there is silence in the office.

"Inspector, perhaps you would be so good as to join me for supper tonight," The man, whoever he is, says at last. "I believe we have a great deal to discuss."

Javert nods. “If you insist.”

The mayor’s tongue wets his lip nervously and Javert flushes, remembering... He has grown more rigid over the years, but his body yet remembers Valjean's touch.

 *  *  *

Javert has matured well over the years. He comports himself like an officer of the law should. Absurdly Valjean is proud of him. He would give anything to be able to tell Javert that, and yet how can he?

Does he know? Valjean can’t tell. In that very first moment he would have sworn that Javert knew him immediately, but why wait? Why not denounce him immediately? Why play this game?

Valjean sits at his desk, resting his head in his hands. This shock comes at the worst possible time. He has arrangements to leave tomorrow to find the child of one of his factory workers, a woman lying near death. Valjean has promised she will see the child once more before the inevitable. Before it hadn’t mattered that the new inspector was arriving today. Before he hadn’t known it would be Javert.

He should leave now. What on earth compelled him to invite Javert for dinner? The man will only arrest him tonight instead of now. He should run.

No, he will wait and depart in the morning. He will give Javert the benefit of the doubt, and then…

 _I am a fool_ , Valjean tells himself _. Javert will have to arrest me, he can do nothing else. But I must see him one more time._

*  *  * 

Valjean is standing in front of his fireplace, hand curled around a glass of wine when there’s a knock at the door. He straightens, setting the wine aside. It is time.

Javert looks mildly surprised to see him answer the door himself.

“My housekeeper has gone to visit her sister for the night,” Valjean explains, as he takes Javert’s coat and hangs it up. “Her absence will afford us some privacy at least.” He leads the way into the sitting room.

“Have we need of privacy?” Javert inquires quietly.

Valjean reaches for his wine again. “I thought perhaps we might.” He gazes at Javert as he drinks.

“I should have known.” Javert says at last.

“What?”

“That you would play a trick like this.”

Valjean’s shoulders sag. “It’s not a trick.” He says quietly. “I have been Madeleine these past years.”

“The name is a lie.” Javert says. This sort of talking between them is new. Before Valjean wouldn’t have dared to speak to him so. And then there was the riot, a memory that makes Javert long for things he shouldn’t, but the way they spoke to each other then, during that time... Now they speak on new ground once more. Javert imagines, for a second, supposing Valjean were really the mayor. If he were, Javert would have been deferential and polite, all eagerness to assure the mayor of his willingness to serve.

Now, he can’t play this game. He can’t let Valjean be Madeleine.

“Well?” Valjean demands. “What are you waiting for?”

In truth, Javert isn’t sure any more, but Valjean’s tone of voice stirs something from the past. “That sounds more like you.”

Valjean flinches. “It’s true I have made mistakes in my past, but Javert, I,”

His name on Valjean’s tongue makes Javert strangely desperate. “Stop speaking.” He doesn’t want to hear any more.

“You hold no authority over me here,” Vajean says darkly. “Remember Javert, I am the mayor of this town.”

Javert bristles. “Once I have told everyone what you really are, they will know the truth.”  How dare Valjean seek to order him around now.

“But they don’t know yet.” Valjean reminds him.

“They will soon enough.” Javert turns to go.

Valjean reaches out, “Javert.”

Javert freezes at his touch. “Don’t presume to be so familiar.” He snarls.

Valjean seizes his arms and they struggle, landing heavily upon the floor. Javert punches Valjean hard in the stomach and Valjean hits him across the mouth, pressing him down against the floor. The carpet is soft underneath Javert’s back. It’s a far cry from their first coupling.

Javert stares up at Valjean, his chest heaving with restrained emotions. “Go on then.”

“What would you have me do?” Valjean glares at him. He has never truly dreamed he would see Javert again. Now he has him here, once more underneath him and Valjean can’t help remembering those days of the riot. The way Javert…he remembers what Javert revealed to him. He hasn’t let himself think of it for so long, the memory feels like silk against his breast.

“Tell me,” Valjean leans down so that his face is only a few inches from Javert’s. “Have you thought of me over the years?”

Javert’s breath hitches.

It’s answer enough for Valjean. He loosens his grip on Javert’s  arm, his right hand sliding down between them to cup Javert through his trousers.

“Please.” Javert begs. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking, whether it's for Valjean to stop, to continue. Perhaps to leave him alone.

Valjean lowers his mouth, “Did you miss me, Javert?”

 _Tell him no. Don’t give him the satisfaction._ In a way, it would be true to say no. He hasn’t missed Valjean steadily over the years. It’s merely the distant ache of a memory long stored away.

“Javert.” Valjean strokes his fingertips down Javert’s cheek with one hand, pressing the other harder between his legs.

“Yes,” Javert moans. He says it before he can stop himself, and is rewarded with Valjean’s lips at last.

It all comes rushing back to Javert as they kiss. Every last memory he’s suppressed, every heated caress. Those words spoken between them so many years ago.

_“Why did you do that?”_

_“Because I have wanted to for a long time.”_

His hands reach up to clasp Valjean to him as he arches into Valjean’s palm.

Valjean sits back on his knees, undoing Javert’s trousers hastily.

Javert pushes himself up on his elbows, watching him. “It’s a good thing your housekeeper is absent tonight.”

Valjean pauses, glancing at him. "I told you we would have need for privacy.” His fingers draw Javert out slowly, gliding over his cock.

“Well?” Javert challenges. In this moment he is again that youthful guard, daring Valjean to take what he wants, and Valjean does, sinking down between Javert’s thighs to take him in his mouth. Javert collapses to the carpet, lips parted in a wordless cry as Valjean captures his cock with the intense heat he remembers better than he wants to admit.

Valjean watches Javert’s face as he sucks his cock. He is not the mayor in this act, no, he’s reverted to his former self. Perhaps this what Javert does to him, perhaps this is why Valjean hasn’t allowed himself to dream of seeing Javert again. He is done with his past life, and Javert is part of that. Yet the cock on his tongue brings back the sweetly bitter memories more sharply than anything else. Valjean hollows his cheeks, taking Javert deeper. His fingers dig into Javert’s thighs as he drags wave after wave of pleasure from Javert.

Javert’s fingers comb through his hair. “God, Valjean,” he doesn’t know to which he cries out. Only that it has been so long since he was touched like this, he can’t hold back.

He spills helplessly down Javert’s throat.

“Valjean.”

Valjean presses a kiss to his thigh and sits up. What has come over him? He stares at the fire, dazed.

Javert sits up as well, resting his hand on Valjean’s knee. “I take it the good mayor isn’t naturally so wanton.”

Valjean’s hand seizes his wrist, pulling Javert in close, half across Valjean’s lap. “Don’t joke about such things,” he hisses. He’s proud of his time spent as mayor, and now just as quickly as it started, it’s over, brought crashing down by Javert’s reappearance in his life.

If he’s ever hated Javert, this is the moment.

Valjean’s releases his wrist, only to close around Javert’s throat instead. Javert shivers under his touch. Valjean’s hand tightens uncomfortably, drawing him in. Valjean kisses Javert’s breathless lips until Javert feels faint, half leaning into Valjean’s shoulder for balance.

Valjean pushes him down on the floor, reaching down to undo his own trousers. If Javert wants to return to that former time, he can oblige him. Javert braces himself against the carpet as Valjean tugs his trousers down to his thighs.

“I take it you missed me then.” Valjean’s hand moves over Javert’s flank.

“You assume too much.” Javert grunts as Valjean’s fingers push inside him. God, how can he still ache so much for this? He presses his forehead into the carpet, half praying this is merely another dream. Valjean’s fingers know him as intimately as ever, moving within him.

“I see you still delay when there’s no need.” Javert bites out.

“I see you are still as impatient as ever for this to be over, inspector.” Valjean removes his fingers and clasps his hips.

Javert groans into the carpet as he hears the word, as Valjean thrusts inside him.

He pushes himself back up with his hands to match Valjean’s thrusts.

Valjean settles a hand around Javert’s neck as he moves inside him. “This is how it should have been.” He’s speaking at random. There is no world where they could have been together, but he imagines it all the same. Having Javert in his bed every night with finally enough time to sort through the emotions and the desires, all the regrets and the bitterness that linger still.

Javert clenches around his cock as Valjean tightens his hold, until it’s too much for both of them. Valjean comes with a broken cry, hips straining against Javert. He pulls out, releasing Javert and rolling over on his back. His shirt is stained with sweat. Javert lays beside him in silence. He raises a hand absently to his neck, brushing across the tender skin.

Valjean reaches over and takes his hand. Javert watches as Valjean kisses his knuckles one by one, until he’s done. Then Valjean simply wraps his arms around Javert, holding him there in his embrace. There is so much left to say, but Javert’s exhausted. He closes his eyes, resting his head against Valjean’s chest. There will be time enough tomorrow to speak.

 *  *  *

Valjean gathers his clothes silently in the dark. This is a far worse crime than any he has committed in the past. Javert will never forgive him for this, if ever he were to forgive him at all. He takes one last look at the sleeping figure curled up on his rug and leaves.

*  *  *

Javert stirs far too late. The empty space beside him has grown cold. Javert pushes himself up to his feet, despising himself for the shakiness in his limbs. He reaches for his boots, knowing the truth already. Valjean is gone.

This time it is his turn to be left behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH THANKS to vejiicakes, merkwerkticleeb and pmfji for research on Javert's restraints!

Javert sees him first. He has the advantage in that respect, composing himself before Valjean finally looks across the room and freezes at the sight of him. His stance is that of a wild animal, caught in a room full of people.

 _Still a convict underneath then_ , Javert thinks. It's fitting that they meet again here. He should have known that Valjean would be led here of all places.

Fate has a mischievously cruel hand.

Javert shifts his weight evenly upon his knees and keeps his gaze steady.

*  *  *  
  
The moment of recognition echoes endlessly in Valjean's mind. He's lost the ability to speak. It's as though he's once more standing in the prison yard at Toulon, with the convict’s cudgel raised above Javert's head. There he is once again, bound and imprisoned. The shock of it roots Valjean in place, helpless to move as he stares at Javert.

"Ah, monsieur, you see our traitor?" The blond leader wrenches Javert's head back by the hair. "We will execute him when the time is right."

"No," Valjean speaks before he can stop himself. He can’t let that happen. No matter what cause these boys are playing at, he won’t let happen. There’s no sense to his actions. Surely it would be wiser to let them execute Javert and have done with his past once and for all. Yet all Valjean knows is that he possibly can't allow Javert to pass from this world without even attempting to explain.

Javert, bound as he is, holds his head upright as best as he can, staring boldly back at Valjean. There are ropes around his neck, trailing down his chest and across his groin. Valjean's gaze lingers.

The leader frowns. “Pardon?” His grip on Javert tightens.

Valjean considers the matter carefully. He means no harm to these young men, so he can't simply seize the rope from his hands and take Javert out of there, as much as he would like to do exactly that. The impulse is incredible, despite the fact that he hasn’t yet fulfilled his primary duty here.

"I meant," He stammers, "You have your hands full. At least let me take this task from you."

Does he imagine the relief that he sees in Javert's eyes? He must.

The leader shrugs and holds out the rope tied to Javert's. “Be our guest.”

“Take him out in the alley.” Another of them calls. “We don’t want his corpse in here.”

Valjean takes the rope and pulls him up, leading Javert from the room out into the alley.

They walk until the light from the fire has faded slightly, and the noise recedes behind them.

Only then does Valjean push Javert hard up against the bricks. "Why are you here?" Once again, despite the years passing, they have come face to face. Valjean has always dreamed it would be so, but here, dressed and bound in this fashion? There’s so little time, but all he wants to do is stand there and gaze at Javert.

"Why're you?" Javert retorts. He rests his head against the bricks, gazing at Valjean sourly. Even this position is uncomfortable, with the ropes drawn snugly across his groin.

"I came for the boy, Marius." Valjean says absently. He studies the various knots fastened across Javert's body, his fingers tracing tentatively over the rope circling his neck. In another time that particular look would have made Javert harden instantly. But that time no longer matters. There is only now and apparently Valjean has found another.

"He's a pretty one." Javert says at last. The words are given grudgingly from his lips. Marius is young and passionate for the cause. No wonder he's turned Valjean's head.

Valjean looks at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then he laughs. There in the alley with the revolution happening all around them, he laughs until his chest shakes with mirth. "Did you really think I-" Valjean chortles even louder.

"Why else would you come here?" Javert demands. "You ever do the foolish things when," he cuts himself off before the sentence is finished, before he can let himself even admit it to himself.

"What?" Valjean leans in, curious as always to know what Javert’s thinking.

"It matters not."

"Tell me." Valjean eases a knee between Javert's thighs, rubbing the ropes there at his groin. Javert's mouth falls open in surprise. He hasn’t forgotten what passed between them in Toulon, of course. How could he? But it’s the boldness of the action that surprises him now. Even now, when Valjean should know better, he’s still foolhardy and reckless and, it’s all Javert can do not to moan at the simplest touch.

"Tell me.” Valjean presses harder, feeling Javert respond to his touch. No matter what Javert says, his body still knows Valjean’s, still hungers for his touch. He wishes Javert were naked, so that he could see the ropes plain against his skin. He remembers that night with Javert under him, the rope drawn tight around his neck, and his breath quickens.

"When you were lustfully enamored."  Javert manages at last. That much is true. He knows that Valjean wanted him then. It’s a truth he hasn't been able to forget.

It doesn't serve to satisfy Valjean. "When I was in love...is that what you were going to say?"

Javert just looks at him, derision in his eyes. "You never loved me." The mere idea of it is ridiculous.  

Valjean blinks. “Is that what you believe?”

“Don’t try to change the past.” Javert’s voice softens in spite of himself. “You can’t.” Nothing that Valjean could say now will change a single thing that's passed between them.

“That’s truly what you think of me.” Valjean takes a step back, surveying Javert there. He’s quiet, and then,“You would never give me yourself to me, just for your own sake.”

Javert rests his head against the cold bricks. The stink of smoke wavers hazy and thick in the air. How like Valjean to remind him of that time now, now when once again he’s a prisoner. Every time Javert moves, he’s conscious of the ropes weighing upon his body, and yet standing here before Valjean with his hands tied and the ropes drawn around him, it’s not even the most humiliating event in Javert’s life.

No, he still remembers the hardness of the cobblestones under his hands and knees, when he crawled the long distance back to the cell at Valjean’s command. How it felt to have Valjean press him down to the stones, cutting away his clothes in front of a crowd of convicts. This conversation here in the alley with just the two of them and the span of the past surrounding them, is not that. Instead it's pervasively, oddly intimate. Perhaps that’s what makes it worse to bear.

“Not at first.” Valjean murmurs, and it takes Javert a moment to return to the present.  “What about now?”

“Now?” Javert’s incredulous. “How can you ask that, after you left? After that, you _dare_ ask that?” He knows there are other far worthier reasons he should balk at the proposition Valjean’s making, but that’s what has stayed with him. That empty moment when he woke and found Valjean gone.

“I had a promise to keep.” Valjean says simply. “I told a dying woman I would bring her child to her. I couldn’t take the risk you would arrest me before I fulfilled that promise.” If he hadn’t had to get Cosette, would he have stayed beside Javert until he woke? To see his eyes drift open again and see what happened next? How would it have gone if he had? Now he’ll never know.

“You never gave me the chance not to.” Javert bursts out. The words hang in the air between them, and for a second he fears that they will somehow hear at the barricade. Surely they must wonder what’s keeping Valjean this long in the alley. But the longer they stand there, the more Javert’s resolve to face his death wavers.

“Would you have let me go?” Valjean has wondered that often, lying awake at night. Sometimes he knows the answer and others, he lies to himself and thinks ‘What if?’

Javert’s answer is forced. “I don’t know.” They both know it’s not completely true.

“See.” Valjean’s voice is derisively triumphant. As much as he would like to have believed Javert would let him go, he’s not certain of it at all.

“I would have liked the chance to choose.” Javert says quietly. If Valjean had but trusted him… What a strange world that would be.

Valjean steps in close again, resting a hand against the bricks behind Javert’s shoulder, as he reaches down to rub the rope against Javert’s groin.

”Valjean.” Javert’s unbearably aware of the state he’s bound in. The slightest movement pulls at his neck and groin. They had been very thorough when they tied him and now Valjean’s gaze roams heatedly over his form.

Valjean rubs the rope between his legs against his cock and Javert gulps. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m still nothing but a thief in your eyes.” Valjean whispers, a hint of sadness in his voice. He sees that now. If it’s true, then there’s nothing to stop him from doing this.

Slipping his hand between the rope and Javert’s trousers, Valjean rests his hand against Javert’s crotch. Javert’s body at least remembers his touch, acknowledging what Javert himself refuses to admit.

He undoes Javert’s trousers, drawing him out. Javert hisses as the ropes pull tight for a moment and then the strain is lessened slightly as Valjean positions his cock between the two ropes crossing his groin.

“Why’re you doing this?” Javert demands. The ropes chafe at him, making him wince.

"I've thought of you these many long nights."

Javert's head fall back against the bricks as Valjean strokes him along the ropes. It burns, but he yearns for it all the same.

"How it felt back then," Valjean murmurs. “To have you spread open under me."

At that Javert struggles, and Valjean merely pulls the rope tight at his neck. Javert gasps; his cock surging upward as he strives to breathe. Valjean’s fingers work him intimately. Javert’s on fire, throat and eyes and cock. For all of his resolution not to let it affect him, the mere touch of the rope against his skin thrusts him back to those nights when he was first a prisoner of Jean Valjean.

He chokes out a painful, “ _Please_ ,” and Valjean finally eases the strain on his throat.

“Those few nights and days in Toulon,” Valjean whispers. “Are among my sweetest memories.” He strokes the length of Javert’s cock almost fondly, rubbing his thumb along the slit until Javert’s hips practically strain towards his touch.

“Of course they were,” Javert pants. “You delighted in having me at your disposal.” He remembers all too well the first time Valjean touched him intimately. How surprised he’d been to know the convict harbored such desires for him. And then, all that had happened afterwards. Javert’s faces grows heated at those memories too.

Once again his fate is in Valjean's hands. “What now?” He asks, but Valjean is still musing over the past.

 “You _made_ that bargain.” Valjean reminds him. “I would never have fucked you otherwise.”

The words are blunt between them, and Javert knows them to be true. “You were all too willing to make that bargain.” He counters with the truth. “You wanted it.”

“I have always wanted that.” Valjean lowers his mouth to brush along Javert’s collar, licking along the inside of the rope around his neck.

Javert groans. Why did he bother reminding Valjean of that? It doesn’t mean the same thing to him. He’s not shamed of his past desires any more than he is hampered by his current ones.

Valjean nips at Javert’s neck, working his way up to Javert’s jaw. Between them Javert’s cock strains fruitlessly, seeking friction against Valjean.

“This isn’t love.” Javert groans.

"Ah," Valjean leans in, "That's where you're wrong." His lips brush over Javert's. "And always have been wrong."

“You never loved me.” Javert repeats. “And what’s more, I never loved you.” He wills it to be true with every ounce of strength left within him. Just once let him not fall prey to Valjean.

"Then why didn't you arrest me immediately in Montreuil-sur-Mer?" Valjean demands. "You knew me from the first moment you saw me. And you wanted this then as you always have." His lips claim Javert's in a bruising, angry kiss. Javert's pressed tightly against the wall.

"I was a boy the first time," He's no longer a boy to be swayed by easy lusts. “And when I saw you again…” He has no excuse for that. He should have done exactly that, and yet he failed to do so.

Valjean’s hand cups him hard and Javert falls silent. Valjean says nothing further, but goes to his knees.

“Valjean.”

It doesn’t deter him. Valjean holds the ropes slightly apart as he nuzzles at Javert’s cock. He mouths wetly at the head, causing Javert to tense. Javert’s not forgotten the feel of Valjean’s mouth on him, but he doesn’t know whether his memory has grown dim or if Valjean’s expertise in this area has surpassed his past self.

Valjean eases him down his throat, adjusting his stance as he sucks Javert’s cock hungrily. There has been no time for things like this in the years he’s spent raising Cosette, and no one with whom he shares the same desires. Only Javert has stirred his body and soul so. His tongue slides down Javert’s length. Valjean presses his lips against the leaking head, making Javert twitch.

“Valjean.” Javert’s voice is a rasp.

Valjean glances up, but doesn’t answer him. This is the last time he will touch Javert.

Javert’s head hangs forward, trying to ease the strain from the ropes. His breath comes faster and faster as Valjean’s tongue traces over his balls before returning to his cock once more. He watches the act in a half-dazed state, his cock moving in and out of Valjean’s mouth, feeling the stretch of Valjean’s lips around him, the mounting pressure to thrust eagerly into that mouth.

He doesn’t warn Valjean when he comes, instead focusing on the way Valjean’s throat moves to swallow his seed.

When he’s finished Valjean sits back, gazing up at Javert wordlessly as he tucks his spent cock back out of sight.

If Javert’s hands were free, he would pull Valjean to his feet and kiss him. For once he doesn’t bother trying to excuse or explain the desire to himself. It’s enough that it exists.

Perhaps it shows upon his face for Valjean rises slowly to his feet, wincing at his knees. Javert remembers once again that it has been many years since Toulon. They are no longer young.

"We've spent so many years apart," Valjean’s hands cup Javert's face. Once he never would have admitted his love, but whatever Javert says, they have both changed. He can speak of it now. If there's one thing his years with Cosette have shown Valjean it's to not waste time. Time is fleeting and they have so little of it. What does he have to lose by telling Javert the truth?

"I love you. If not since the moment when I first saw you, then soon after.” He thinks perhaps it was when he saw Javert waiting to die, resolution stark upon Javert's young face. Valjean has spent too much time watching Javert waiting to die. He’s had enough.

His lips press against Javert's shocked ones, a last tender reminder of the passion they have shared.

Javert’s lips linger longer than he cares to admit, the taste of himself bitter upon Valjean’s tongue.

Then abruptly, Valjean draws back. He pulls the knife from his belt and cuts the ropes from around Javert’s neck. They fall down his chest away from his body. Javert stares down at the ropes and Valjean turns him to face the bricks as he cuts the ropes binding his wrists. Javert shivers as the pressure at his groin eases somewhat.  

Valjean’s lips brush against his ear. "We’re not yet done.” He whispers his address in Javert’s ear before stepping back.

Javert rubs at his wrists as he turns to face Valjean.

Valjean has his pistol drawn. “Meet me there when all this is done."

“To what end?” Javert manages, the words hoarse.

“To give you the choice you claim you wanted.” Valjean raises the pistol. “Now, go.”

Javert does before he can change his mind.

*  *  *

Now Valjean gives him the choice. Now when Javert is exhausted from thinking about Valjean and wants nothing more to do with him at this juncture.

He goes home. Whatever Valjean is doing at the barricade, Javert still has his duty.

Undressing is painful. His skin is covered in rope burns, from where Valjean pressed and rubbed his bonds against him. Javert tries not to dwell on them as he washes the grime from the alley off his skin. He splashes a handful of water over his face. It trickles down his bare chest to his groin, and he pauses, bent over the wash basin.

Valjean is right. They’re not finished yet. There’s no escaping what happened in that alley. No matter what he does, or where he goes, Valjean is always there.

He remembers with the ache of heavy clarity, how Valjean looked at him back then in Toulon. Was it truly love that Javert saw there in his eyes or only lust? Javert's not sure any more.

Javert dresses once again in his uniform, hissing at the rub of cloth across the marks.

Once he’s dressed, he returns to the barricade, but it’s not there that he finds Valjean.

*  *  *

Valjean’s shoulders slump slightly when he sees Javert standing there above him.  Whether it’s relief or despair, he can’t tell.

Javert speaks first. “As you said, we’re not finished yet.” He eyes the burden upon Valjean’s back. “I see you rescued the one you intended to.”

Marius is so still against his back, Valjean fears for him. This is his chance to ask as he didn’t before. Yet another choice that Javert claims he wanted to have.

“He’s wounded. Please, Javert,” Valjean says, ragged, unashamed of the fact that he’s begging now. “If I could just take him home, then I’m yours to do with as you please.” He means the words to be as blatant as they are. It’s true. Whatever Javert desires, Valjean will submit to him.

Javert studies the young man he’s carrying. “You said you came to the barricade for him.”

“Yes,” Valjean shifts the unconscious weight of Marius on his shoulder. “Cosette, my daughter…she’s in love with him.” It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud. Admitting it eases the weight in his heart at least. Cosette will have her young lover, wounded, but alive.

“Daughter.” Javert stares at him.

Valjean sighs. “That promise I spoke of. I failed to carry it out. By the time I had found Cosette, her mother was dead. And so I kept her with me and raised her as my own.”

“All this time,” Javert says wonderingly. Valjean hasn’t been alone. He made a home, a family for himself. For some reason this is what strikes Javert. In all his imaginings, he’s never pictured Valjean like that.

Valjean waits, heart slowing in his chest. He’s exhausted by the last twenty-four hours. If Javert won’t let him go, he’ll have to get past him. He has no stomach for fighting Javert.

“Go,” Javert says at last. “Take him home then.” This is the choice he didn’t get to make before and this is his decision in the end. “I will meet you there.” He turns and leaves Valjean standing there, holding the boy.

*  *  *

Javert takes up his post opposite Valjean’s apartments. He waits, composing himself for the time it will take.

Valjean has a daughter. All these years have not been spent alone. Javert ponders this as he waits. When Valjean spoke of love in the alley Javert had assumed two things. One, that it was just Valjean merely being overly passionate, or two, that he was simply alone. Loneliness could explain the reason Valjean would bring himself to speak such things. After all, Javert is most likely still the only one who knows the truth concerning his past.

But this daughter that Valjean rescued and raised and cherished in his care, that means Javert is wrong and Valjean has no need to be lonely.

If he’s wrong, then can it possibly be true?

Love, such a strange concept to Javert’s mind. But if ever he were capable of love, it would indeed belong to Valjean.

In truth, he’s the one who’s been lonely these many years. Javert can admit that, but he wouldn’t seek out Valjean’s company solely for that alone. It’s not enough. But love, if this is true, this profession of Valjean’s…what does he truly expect Javert to do in return?

There’s no resolution to his thoughts until he speaks again with Valjean, so Javert does his best to put them aside and merely wait.

After a while he sees a carriage arrive. Valjean comes down the stairs with a young woman and helps her into the carriage. He watches as the carriage drives away, and then goes back inside.

Even then Javert wavers, hesitating until finally he goes in, up the stairs and raps on the door.

Valjean must have been waiting for he opens the door instantly. He regards Javert with weary eyes.  
  
"I've sent Cosette to tend Marius at his grandfather's." Valjean keeps the door open and Javert steps through.

Valjean holds himself like an older man. It takes Javert a moment to remember and accept that he has indeed aged, and isn’t merely playing a part. Yet he saw Valjean carrying Marius from the sewers. The man is still strong as an ox. There is strength there yet.

Valjean has bathed and changed. He stands there in the room, patiently waiting. It takes Javert a moment to realize Valjean is waiting for him to arrest him.  
  
"You say you love me." Javert says, the words uncomfortable on his tongue even now. "In telling me this, what would you have of me?" What does Valjean expect him to do? Release him from the burden of knowing Valjean is free in the world? Take it upon himself to guard him? What is Javert supposed to _do?_

“I would have you believe it.” Valjean knows Javert can’t accept this.

“That’s all? I thought you wanted more.”

“Of course I want more,” Valjean spits harshly at him. “I have always wanted more from you, Javert. And I know that you cannot, or will not give it to me.”

“You say I’ve been the one wrong all these years.” Javert takes a step closer to him. “Yet, this is what you say now.”

Valjean rubs at his forehead. This endless back and forth is exhausting. They will never understand one another.  “What are you waiting for? Come, arrest me already.” He holds out his hands to Javert.

Javert seizes them, gripping his wrists tightly. “Have you never wondered why I didn’t turn you over to the guards when they reclaimed Toulon? Why I kept the secret of your participation in the riot?”

Valjean’s brow furrows with confusion. “I always assumed you thought I’d tell what happened.”

“The entire prison saw enough,” Javert’s tone is bitter then. “Even without your account, there were stories circulating. Why do you think they transferred me?”

Valjean shrugs. Javert’s eyes track the motion of his broad shoulders. He’s dreamed of those shoulders, the weight of them pressed against him on a prison floor, the strength which lies in them holding him close.

“Why?” Valjean’s wrists are still clasped in Javert’s. He can feel the warmth of Javert’s skin against his. The intensity of his grip holds Valjean there.

“It was never just one time.” Javert murmurs. It’s all he has to offer, as he once did before. The plain and honest truth of his desire for Valjean that he has carried for the majority of his life.

It takes Valjean a moment. It seems to Javert that it always takes Valjean a moment to understand his meaning. He wonders if that will ever change. He suspects it will not.

“You.” His hands brush up Javert’s arms to clasp his face. “You have thought of me as well then?”

“Yes.” Javert says, and Valjean’s lips descend upon his.

Javert’s fingers wrap themselves in Valjean’s shirt, drawing him closer. There will be more talk later. For now this is enough.

Until Valjean’s hand slides down the back of his neck and Javert hisses in pain.

“What is it?” Valjean asks, concerned.

“What do you think?” Javert tugs his collar down so that Valjean can see the burn of the rope there. “You’ve left your mark upon me.”

Valjean’s fingers linger on his hips. “Did I?” His gaze travels down Javert’s body. “Only there?”

“I am covered in the damn things.” Javert growls at him.

“Show me.” Valjean’s tone is rough, not quite demand, but not polite enough to be only a request.

He should have guessed Valjean would want to see.

“Here?” They’re standing in the front room of Valjean’s apartments, but who is there to see?

Valjean just nods.

Javert doesn’t back down from his gaze. He unbuttons his uniform and slips it from his shoulders. Valjean stands there, his arms folded across his chest as he watches. Javert removes his boots and stockings next, setting them aside. Unfastening his trousers he steps out of them, then his shirt and drawers follow.

His body has aged, but Valjean doesn’t seem to care. He studies the rope abrasions crossing Javert’s neck and chest, down to his groin. There are reddened marks on his wrists as well, and Valjean reaches for those first, wrapping his palms lightly around them.

There’s pain, brief and stinging, but it fades as Javert watches Valjean bring Javert’s wrists up to his mouth. Valjean kisses the marks on first one wrist and then the other. His lips are cool against the burn and Javert flushes with remembered heat.

“How is it?” Valjean murmurs, releasing his wrists.

“What?” Javert asks foolishly, but then Valjean’s hand is between his legs and he hisses in earnest now. His cock is rubbed half raw. “Sore.”

Valjean slides a finger down either side of Javert’s cock, bringing tears to his eyes. “Valjean.”

“Do you realize that not once have we ever lain in a bed together?” Valjean looks up at him. His gaze is as warm and tender as Javert has ever seen it.

It’s true. There have been blankets upon prison floors, and stone walls and brick alleyways, but never a bed.

“I suppose that will no doubt change at some point.” Javert remarks.

“I suppose it will change now.” Valjean mocks him.

“Now is as good a time as any.”

“Now is very good indeed.” Valjean corrects him.

He draws Javert after him toward the bedroom.

*  *  *

There Valjean takes his time. He traces his tongue over each mark left upon Javert’s skin working his way down Javert’s torso. Each lick sends a fresh surge of agonizing desire through Javert’s frame as he lies back upon the bed, watching Valjean silently. At least, until he can bear it no longer.

“The least you could do is remove your clothes as well.”

“I like having you bare beneath me.” Valjean’s tongue lingers at a raw stripe above Javert’s groin.

“You always did.” Javert says humorlessly.

“I always will.” Valjean presses his lips to Javert’s hip.

When his mouth closes over the head of Javert’s cock, Javert whimpers. “Valjean, _please_.” Javert doesn’t wish for release. He wants Valjean to tell him this is not a dream.

Valjean only stops after his tongue has passed over the entirety of Javert’s cock. He stretches out alongside Javert, gazing at him.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Javert murmurs, knowing it’s futile.

Valjean merely reaches out to brush his fingertips over Javert’s lips. “Tell me then, of all these times you’ve thought of me.”

*  *  *

Sunlight stretches across the bedroom floor. Javert stirs and blinks wearily at the roof. It’s morning, and he’s in the bed of Jean Valjean. This is no dream.

He turns his head and gazes at Valjean as he slumbers on peacefully, head resting upon his arm.

(Later when Valjean wakes at last, worried until he realizes Javert is still there beside him, Javert will pin him to the mattress and kiss him until Valjean’s rubbing against him shamelessly. After their bodies have strained and sweated, moving together familiarly once more, that’s when the words will slip from Javert’s lips. Valjean will demand to hear it again, and Javert will turn red with the realization of what he’s said.

But he’ll say it again for it’s true, and the joy that spreads across Valjean’s face when he knows that Javert loves him is worth the feeling that he’s surrendered himself to sentiment.)

For now though, Javert watches Valjean sleep with bemused fascination. All he knows is that he cares deeply for Valjean. There's a tremulous contentment clawing for a stable position in his chest. This, Javert accepts, is love.  

 


End file.
